


I Dream Of Suburbia

by MirandasMadeOfStone



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:49:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 37,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5150894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirandasMadeOfStone/pseuds/MirandasMadeOfStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here is the first part of my lengthy post series 3 fic. I wrote this weeks ago and then wrestled with whether I liked it, or whether it was a pile of pants, boring and derivative.</p><p>This fic nearly destroyed my uber wonderful and patient beta how-ardently… damn you googledocs. However, we got there in the end. And I cannot thank her enough for her amazing hard work, support and ability to make me see things from a different perspective.</p><p>I’m being upfront that this is a “fix it” fic but it’s going to take 7 chapters. I genuinely think the Frae could make it, provided that they took the time to sort themselves out on their own. They both have a lot of things to work through, something I believe would take time. There’s a part of me that will always view them as starcrossed lovers, destined to be together, just at the right time. </p><p>It’s almost as if their paths are destined to cross at various points and it all depends on their circumstances at the time, as to whether they are able and wish to walk hand in hand. </p><p>I’m going to stop rabbiting on and on. This fic is quite special to me. I won’t deny it’s gritty and realistic but at the same time, I’ve found new aspects to characters that I wasn’t really aware of before. (* I say fic. But dare I admit it? This is a story, something of a creation?)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the first part of my lengthy post series 3 fic. I wrote this weeks ago and then wrestled with whether I liked it, or whether it was a pile of pants, boring and derivative.
> 
> This fic nearly destroyed my uber wonderful and patient beta how-ardently… damn you googledocs. However, we got there in the end. And I cannot thank her enough for her amazing hard work, support and ability to make me see things from a different perspective.
> 
> I’m being upfront that this is a “fix it” fic but it’s going to take 7 chapters. I genuinely think the Frae could make it, provided that they took the time to sort themselves out on their own. They both have a lot of things to work through, something I believe would take time. There’s a part of me that will always view them as starcrossed lovers, destined to be together, just at the right time. 
> 
> It’s almost as if their paths are destined to cross at various points and it all depends on their circumstances at the time, as to whether they are able and wish to walk hand in hand. 
> 
> I’m going to stop rabbiting on and on. This fic is quite special to me. I won’t deny it’s gritty and realistic but at the same time, I’ve found new aspects to characters that I wasn’t really aware of before. (* I say fic. But dare I admit it? This is a story, something of a creation?)

**Seven hours and fifteen days**

Three o’clock in the morning finds him lying alone on the sofa in his flat above the bookies. Groaning morosely, he opens his dry, scratchy eyes. He reaches out, extending his arm and hand in search of the half empty Carlsberg tin that he had deposited amongst the sea of empties on the floor some half hour before. Having gulped back a few mouthfuls, spilling a little due to his prone angle, he curses and lights yet another cigarette, proceeding to use one of those empty cans as an ashtray.

He’d been anticipating this day, and this hour, since that conversation they had had on a bench at Rae’s leavers’ ball. Fuck it. He stands up and stumbles across the floor to the turntable, which is still running, knocking over several cans in the process. Carefully, he moves the needle back to the outside of the single. He might as well. It’s been 15 days and seven hours and some ten minutes since she’d told him in no uncertain terms that it was over, and it would remain over.

Turning up at the ball had been more than just a risk, because upsetting her was the last thing he had wanted to do. He’d been late. Very late. He’d sent the first taxi away and taken his tux off. Two double vodkas later, he’d thought about their friends, their group, their gang. Deep down, he had considered that the ball had represented one last chance to be together, to have fun and to relive the glory days. Although he remained in denial that it was also a goodbye for all of them,  he’d felt it from the moment he had arrived. It caused such an intrinsic sense of panic that he had nearly run and got back into that second taxi.

The evening had cost him dearly. Even though Rae’s dismissal of his feelings had been something of a relief, until that point the seed of hope he’d carried with him had not withered. She’d seen to that of course. So he’d drunk freely and done whatever she had asked of him. He couldn’t help but be proud of the beautiful woman he had danced with. The woman, who had come so far,  achieved so much, and was going off to experience the biggest adventure yet.

He collapses back on the sofa, allowing Sinead O'Connor’s beautiful voice to wash over him in mournful waves. His mind wanders back to that conversation again, the one that has haunted his waking moments, as well as his dreams, since it had happened. He had suspected for some time that he might have been holding her back, and that he simply was, and would never be, good enough; that he belonged in a time and stage of her life that was fast drawing to a close. The first time he’d actually known it was when he confronted her about Bristol. It had then become even more apparent in that dreadful conversation in the car park at the back of the Swan,, the one where he had acquitted himself so poorly, that it had all become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He had still been in love with her then, as he couldn’t deny he still was, and he supposes that might have been the last time he actually had had a chance with her. It may have taken them a while to talk things through, but he wonders what could have been. A tear slips down his cheek. That conversation where she had thrown his declaration of love back in his face had torn him apart. But in hindsight, it was nothing compared with what had happened in his flat.

Katie. Katie fucking Springer. He had thought he had a good radar for identifying girls who were purely visually and selfishly interested in him;there had been plenty over the years. He had always tried to be polite, but loathed talking to them and often ended up being completely disinterested in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. But Katie had seemed genuinely concerned about Rae’s well being. And Rae’s well being was something he’d desperately needed, as opposed to wanted, to discuss. They’d talked a little in the pub that evening as he’d drunk himself into something of a stupor. Unthinkingly, he had given her his number when she’d requested it, full of promises that they could, and would, help Rae together.

He casts around for another can of Carlsberg; the one he’s been drinking has gone all too quickly. He downs the best part of half a can, before he can even contemplate what had happened next. Katie had come round to his on the pretence of talking about Rae,which they had actually done for quite some time. And, like a fool, he had lowered his guard and allowed some of his suppressed fears rise to the surface.

He’d felt sick to stomach and his head ached with the weight of his feelings, so when Katie suggested that he lie down, he had acquiesced. Discomfort had coursed through his veins as Katie had lain down next to him, but he’d not done anything other than wriggle back a little. She’d talked about her concerns about Rae’s predisposition for self harming and had questioned whether she could find herself choosing that path once more. A seething mass of emotion had welled up in him, in a way he could neither control nor express. He hadn’t flinched when she’d wrapped her arms around him, supposedly in a gesture of comfort. That was the moment when he had been unwittingly beguiled by the snake to take a bite of the apple.

He had barely reciprocated the kiss before pulling away, suffused with confusion and self disgust. It had taken more than one cup of tea to calm Katie down. She had tried it on again later; he’d been prepared for it, but she still hadn’t left. His heart  sunk to his toes when he had opened the door. He couldn’t believe the words that had spouted forth from Rae’s mouth. He’d felt his grip on reality slip as he began to drown in his own guilt and bewilderment at what had been happening. But nothing, nothing could have prepared him for what he had felt when he saw the state of Rae’s hand.

Not only had his  world crumbled, but the last few months of their relationship  disintegrated into nothing more than a lie. He had let her down and failed her on too many levels to count, such that he’d sunk to the floor in silent distress after she slammed the door. Katie had come through and tried to tell him that Rae would get used to the idea. He’d lost it completely at that point and had shouted at her to get out and stay away. Yet another thing he was not proud of. Another Nelson failure. The ire that had exploded out of him should have been directed at himself. At his useless, knobhead of a person.

Finn grabs the can of lager and gulps back the remaining half. The memory of that day is  tenebrous, unpalatable and wields such destructive power that he can’t bear to be in his flat any longer. He stands up, kicking his way through the cans and knocking ash all over the carpet. Tears prick his eyes as he opens the catch, but he’s quick to leave, slamming the wretched door behind him.

Twenty minutes later, he is standing outside his nan’s bungalow. No matter that new people have moved in, it will always be his nan’s bungalow. Perching on a bench opposite, he lights a cigarette and tries to regain some composure. Images of the ball replay in his mind in technicolour glory. His heart rate begins to decrease as he discerns that he had played his part well there. He had appeared all grins, laughter and fun. However, the facade had exhausted him. By the time they’d made it to the pub, the smiles had worn paper thin. Archie’s song had been something else and he hadn’t been able to prevent himself from sneaking a glance or two at the woman he  wanted to hold in his arms. On the walk over, she’d asked him to stay in touch, promising that she would write and call. But he had known her words were as hollow as her statement on the bench.  That false hope that just because they were apart now, didn’t mean they would never be together. He stifles a wry laugh because it’s all he can do to stop himself from crying at the memory.

He thinks that at least he had managed to slip away unnoticed from the pub that night, leaving the group of friends to party without the taint of his presence. The instant the night air had hit his face, he had become sober, rendering the walk home tortuous. Despite the cold, his body had burnt up with the memories  he faced at every turn; not just those of her, but also those of his friends. He had helped himself to a double scotch at his father’s house, which was when he had unearthed Sinead in a pile of his father’s records. Perhaps he should have gone home to his flat, but it had felt too unfamiliar and too raw.

It had been  Monday night when he finally reentered the flat, and that was only out of necessity. The first home that he had scrimped and saved for, the freedom he had so looked forward to, the place that was meant to herald the beginning of a new chapter in his life, had, within the space of a short month, become a place he not only disliked, but also somewhere he wished to avoid. For being cooped up within its four small walls evoked intense feelings of claustrophobia induced by being trapped by the memories he could not escape.

Finn gazes back over to his nan’s bungalow, noting the slightly faded canary yellow weatherboarding that he had helped her paint one summer in his early teens. The roses they had planted in the the front garden had gone to seed somewhat, but nonetheless their very presence is a small comfort. Even as a small boy, he could have walked to his nan’s bungalow with his eyes closed. It had been the place he had first run away to, when the distress at his mother’s departure had been too much for his eight year old self to process. The words would elude him even now.

Somehow, everything had become tolerable when his nan had made him a cup of tea and given him a custard cream. He’d stayed for a week that first time in the small single room, under a hand crocheted blanket she had made before arthritis had robbed her of one of her great passions. The bungalow had become his safe haven on many occasions, when he had fallen out with his father, been in trouble at school, or even when he’d been in a fight as a teenager.

The beige bricks may  seem like another part of uninspiring suburbia to most, but to Finn, they represent something warmer, more steadfast and comforting than their dreary appearance belied. Unbidden and unexpected, his mind fills with questions he wishes he could ask her, with the advice he so sorely requires at this juncture in his life. The words push up from his chest and into his mouth, almost leaving his lips on more than one occasion. But, with a lump in his throat, he swallows them down and decides to make tracks.

His feet nearly betray him, taking him in the direction of his father’s house, but he has to force himself back towards his detested flat. Since the gang has been established, he’s found courage in his friendships and a nascent sense of self-belief. But he now believes that he’s been the one who has ultimately caused it to crumble, then disintegrate. The gang are fast developing into a sepia tinted memory. He’s not even seen any of them since the ball, bar Chop, who has even gone to the extent of changing shifts at work, so their time in the garage overlaps as little as possible.

In the interim, Chop took Izzy away on summer break, leaving Chloe, Archie and Rae in Stamford. Chloe had crossed the road to avoid him last week and Archie, his oldest friend, had probably been busy spending time with Rae, and possibly Rob, before he left. Finn would have called to check how things were going, but he still was in no position to  face the questions that would follow, for he could still not form any coherent answers for himself, let alone vocalise them to another human being.

He unlocks his front door and shuts it behind him with a grimace. The stale smell that fills his nostrils is enough to make his stomach start to churn and he has to run to the bathroom as the fiery contents of his stomach spill forth into the porcelain. He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve and walks back through to the lounge. Unexpected anger burns brightly as he catches sight of the posters that evoke moments spent with her to be replayed in his mind. Violently, he pulls them down, ripping them in the process as they tangle around his hands.

This brief histrionic tempest leaves him drained and fragile. He pulls his pillow and duvet from behind the sofa, where they had lain for the past two weeks and collapses onto it. Shutting his eyes, he prays that sleep will take him and ease the torment, if only for the couple of hours before he needs to get up and ready himself for work.

*************************************  
**Wake me up when September ends (Green Day)**

The 28th September is a warm autumn night. On his walk home from the garage, Finn notes that the leaves have started to change colours into spectacular hues of russet, orange and gold. As a child, he had always preferred autumn over the other seasons. Perhaps it was the lure of cosy nights spent in front of the fire, drinking warm sugary tea, whilst his nan told him stories. And, he has always been partial to a bonfire. There’s  something about roaring, leaping flames on a dark November night. Flames that sent sparks into the air, transforming the demons of old into flashes of something new.

He shakes his head at these ridiculous thoughts. It’s neither as if they matter anymore, nor has he anyone to share them with. As he passes Town Records, an unpleasant and painful clenching begins in his guts. There had been a new vinyl release today. One that he should have been excited for, one that would either entice him during his lunch hour or have him at the doors for shop opening tomorrow. He tells himself that he is still too ashamed of his actions to cross the threshold, fearful of the judgement that his behaviour will have earnt him.

The stale sandwich he ate at lunchtime  hardly provided sufficient sustenance to last him a couple of hours, let alone the full day. His treacherous stomach growls as he marches on defiantly passed the Chippy. Another place he has not dared to enter in the last couple of months, for it too is brimming with memories. He tries to focus on the edge of town centre, knowing that when he passes its limits, the soothing lights of houses full of families and friends will spill out onto the street, lighting the dusk, and, ever so temporarily, relieving just a little of the all pervasive loneliness that permeates every part of his being.

The gnawing in his belly grows stronger as he unlocks his front door. Irreverently, he tosses his coat onto the floor, deciding that, if he’s to drink as planned, he should probably eat first. The bread he had made his lunch from has curled at the edges during the day. Nonetheless, he throws a couple of slices in the toaster before opening a cupboard. A wry laugh escapes his mouth as he surveys its pitiful contents: the remnants of a bag of rice, a couple of mouldy potatoes, a bag of sprouting onions, some pasta neatly tied with an elastic band which he hasn’t touched since the week he’d first moved in, and a solitary pot noodle.

Pot noodle it was. Filling the kettle, he stares at the fridge. He’d removed the photos of the them when he’d returned from his holiday, but try as he might, he had not been able to bring himself to throw them away. Instead, they linger in a box in his bedroom. A box buried at the the bottom of the wardrobe. Nevertheless, it whispers to him during the night when he is at his weakest, most likely to cave in to its agonising temptation. He muses that it’s probably a good thing that the bedroom’s sole purpose had evolved into that of a dumping ground, its door kept closed at all times through necessity.

Sitting unceremoniously on the sofa, he reaches for the remote, selecting a channel at random to fill the silence. He dunks the dry toast into the pot noodle. He supposes the holiday had been good for him. Rae would never know, but he’d originally booked them a fortnight during August as a post exam boost and treat. Derisively, he laughs at his own foolishness. How could he have ever believed that she wouldn’t have been offered a place at University?

The middle aged lady in the travel agent had taken pity on him when he’d moped in, wishing to cancel. Of course, he’d never read the smallprint, had never considered the detail because it never crossed his mind to question. But that thoughtless unobservancy just about summed him up. This indictment induces his fingers to wander into his pocket and retrieve a battered pack of Marlboro. Shaking, he lights up, despite only being a few mouthfuls into his so-called meal.

Drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, he attempts to focus on the trip he’d had with Des, one of the lads from football, who actually had semi-decent taste in music, even if it was a little too rave based for his liking. He’d managed to trade down the hotel right on the beach in South Devon for a couple of weeks at a B&B in Whitby earlier that month.

He supposes it had actually been ok, on the basis that he had had zero expectations. It had been something of a relief that Des wasn’t remotely interested in pulling; dancing and weed were more his style, and, much to his surprise, walking.

Des, being Des, had managed to locate a couple of raves at the weekend. Low key affairs where they could lose themselves in the beat of the music and the inducements on offer. Somehow, at the time, he had managed to block out Archie’s leaving do that had been taking place in the Swan back in Stamford. Rae had probably had done something similar; a little louder, more drunken and with better music, he supposed. Although he had never been aware of the exact date of her departure for Bristol, he had surmised that it was shortly after Archie’s from something Chop had mentioned. He had hit everything hard in Whitby for those two days, walking for miles after no sleep with a stupendous hangover.

He glances down at the toast with disgust, but picks it up and pushes it unceremoniously into his mouth, following it with a forkful of tepid noodles, hoping it will assuage the burning in his stomach, which is now actively bothering him. Forcing down the rest of the food, he searches the fridge for something to wash it down with. His hand closes around a bottle of vodka, that he had bought two days previously. Grabbing a mug from one of the red wall cupboards, he pours a generous measure and knocks it back in one, before placing the bottle and mug on the table in front of the still blaring TV.

His mind wanders back to his journey home, latching onto his moment outside the record store. Casting an eye around the living room, he inhales deeply, steeling himself to walk over to the crates of LPs stacked in the corner behind the chair. He only makes it as far as his feet before throwing himself back on the sofa in disgusted defeat. Lighting up, he sighs. Even The Smiths couldn’t soothe his troubled soul right now. Unscrewing the cap on the vodka, he tries to clear his mind.The first slug unsettles his guts once more. He chooses to ignore their protest as he gulps back mouthful after mouthful of the burning spirit, wishing that oblivion would take him until Monday morning, until September.

**************************************  
**October Swimmer**

The cold October air may have nipped at and stung his skin, but playing football had brought some routine back to the never ending weekends. Not only had it probably prevented him from drinking himself into a coma, it had meant that he had been forced to socialise with his team mates, and far more importantly Chop. Initially, his inclusion in the team had only served to stir things up his old friend, who had declared he didn’t want to play on the same team as “that untrustworthy twat.”

At first, he had kept a respectful distance. But one night, after a surprise victory against the league leaders, they had both put away a significant number of pints post the celebration curry. He had been swaying down the street, unsteady on his feet, when Chop had shouted after him, calling him out for ducking out early on the celebration. But he’d known that wasn’t at the heart of Chop’s inebriated admonishment. He had turned to face Chop who had bawled at him for always running away, for refusing to face his problems head on, for hiding away.

“Face it, you’re a fucking coward, Nelson. Couldn’t bear to show your face after what you’d done?”

He had remained silent, for there had been no words, no possible response and he was so far beyond excuses.

“You’re such a tosser, you couldn’t be bothered to say goodbye. My Izz tells me you haven’t called, written or anything. You know Rae would have appreciated the support; new city, new course, her family’s gone away. But the selfish prick that you are, you decided to pretend she’d never existed. I get that you’re not proud of what you did. But you fucking disgust me.”

He had bitten his lip clumsily. “She said goodbye at the ball. She meant it. That was it.”

Even now, he can’t understand why he had shrugged his shoulders and tried to walk off nonchalantly, as if it had meant nothing, as if thoughts of her didn’t threaten to consume him at every turn.

Chop had pulled him back by one shoulder and punched him squarely in the face. He’d stood there and just taken it, as Chop yelled in his face about his lack of compassion and his pathetic humanity before jostling him again.

“I fucking don’t get you, Nelson. I thought you was sound, a decent human being. But as soon as things got tough, you gave up. Couldn’t keep it in your fucking pants could you?”

Those words had seeped into his core, stoking a long died down fire from its embers.

“It were no more than a kiss! And a shit kiss at that. One tha’ lasted no more than about 5 seconds. I’ve fucking regretted it every sodding day since. Yes, I’m a knob. And you know what, Chopper? I know that I never fucking deserved her. She was far too good for me from day one. I mean, I’m some bone-head college drop-out, who’s a mediocre mechanic at best. But she? She’s destined for things I will never be able to understand. She is so far out of my fucking league. And I’m even more of a twat for thinking that we could have had a future, because what the fuck could she see ever see in me, Chop?”

Chop’s face had fallen from fury to confusion to consternation.

“Yeah, but… but why the fuck have you not kept in touch? Why’ve you been hiding, you bell-end? Doesn’t fucking make sense.” He spat out.

The truth, which Finn  had tried to banish to the most cavernous depths, but  had festered in his stomach, bubbled back up, rendering him speechless and paralysed. Chop had stood there expectantly, until ire once again consumed him.

“Cat got ya fucking tongue? Were you lying just then? Just covering your filthy tracks, making excuses for upsetting Raemundo. You piece of shit.”

His face had crumpled a little as he had sought to bring the emotions that menaced him under some sort of control, before they completely overwhelmed him. But his attempt had been in vain, and unbidden tears had rolled down his cheeks.

“I… I loved her. I really loved her.” He had stuttered. “But it… it were never enough. I let her down long before Katie. She was ill, proper ill. And I let her down. And I’m sorry, but I can’t do it again. I can’t pretend to be there for her when all I’ll do is let her down. Because I fuck everything up. Because I’m an idiot. Because… because…” His words had trailed off and vanished into the night air.

In a lot of respects, he’s grateful that the most tenebrous and vulnerable aspects had remained buried as some sort of self preservation instinct had kicked in. He had turned his back on Chop once more and started to stumble along the street, desperately hoping to hold things together sufficiently until he was behind a locked door. But Chop’s toughened exterior had finally cracked and he’d thrown his arms around Finn.

“Fuck, Finny-boy. Fuck. I’m… look, I shouldn’t have. I was being a drunken twat.”

“Nah, I deserved it.”

“Not that level of abuse. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a div. I was just so worried about Raemundo that I kind of forgot about you. Still shouldn’t have kissed Katie though. Fucking girl was after you for ages… the fuck did you not see that coming?”

He had still been trying to process that particular turn of events. Seeing Chop’s still raised eyebrows, he understood that an answer was important to his friend. And as he tries to delve back into the question, he had finds himself still lacking for a simple rational explanation for his momentary lapse of reason.

“That day in the pub, that day when we found out Chlo was going to be alright? I followed Rae out into the carpark, I told her I loved her and I wanted her back. She threw it back in my face. It was over, Chop. And Katie, she just said she wanted to talk about Rae, she told me she was worried. And stupidly, I believed her. I was… I don’t know… Chop. She fucking kissed me. But I didn’t stop it  instantly. I didn’t want her. I needed Rae… all I could think of was Rae.” His shoulders had hunched and shook as he found himself in Chop’s embrace.

“You still love her, don’t ya?”

Chops words had dissolved any final pretence he had been carrying and he had broken down.

“You silly sod. You poor, poor sod.” They had stood there under the yellow glow of the street lamps in silent solidarity for some moments until Chop’s voice had once more pervaded the thick night air, as he slid an arm around Finn’s shoulders. “Best get you home eh?”

Brothers in Arms

Washing his hands in the filthy sink in the corner of the garage, Finn curses the broken water heater. He thinks that lathering your hands up with gritty soap under icy water has to be one of the most miserable aspects of the job. He winces as the grains, ostensibly designed to remove the grime, rub into already chapped skin and nasty split in his thumb, that he had somehow incurred playing football the previous evening.

Tearing a sheet of rough blue paper from the roll hanging on the wall, he yawns. It’s been a long day and last night’s match had really taken it out of him. Coupled with the insignificent amount of shut-eye he managed last night, it’s made for trying day. Yet again he’s last to finish, his last task of the day having taken far longer than it should. Hands dried, he grabs his coat from the peg and pulls it on, thankful for its warm lining. Taking one last look around, he checks that everything is switched off before flicking off the lights.

As he locks up the door, his mind wanders back to yesterday’s match. Chop asked him, little Al and Barney to the pub for post-match drinks but he declined, mumbling into something into his boots about a gig. This small pretence seemed far more straightforward than finding the right words for his reluctance. Chop had already warned him some days previously that although Izzy didn’t hold grudges, she had found his avoidant behaviour upsetting and puzzling. For someone she had looked to as an older brother for so long, his fall from grace had not so much as been the problem so much as his refusal to face up, acknowledge it and return to the fold penitently.

Lighting a cigarette to help the walk home pass quicker, he considers Chop’s little speech, which had unsettled him and raised questions that he had not anticipated. The whole dynamic of their little gang had somehow suddenly seemed irreparably different to how he had thought it had always been. He had begun to ruminate whether the gang he had known and loved was but an illusion in his head. Perhaps he had only seen and believed in what he had wanted to, and the semantics of the gang and their intertwined lives had actually been quite different. Somehow, he could not progress beyond this stage and planning to see Izzy again had grown out of all proportions.

However, the second and pivotal reason for missing out on beers is more troubling and personal, and has clouded his thoughts for the past week. It was only one flipping day, he reasons taking another deep drag of his Malboro, just an anniversary, nothing more. But the thoughts have woven their sinuous fingers into his dreams, interrupting his sleep repeatedly and clawing at the lining of his stomach, rendering him nauseous and disorientated. The dreaded day is nearly upon him but despite all the visions he had planned for it, he knows he will probably remain alone on the sofa and not even leave the flat.

Comfortingly, Chop remembered and, today had offered to spend the day with him. But, he believes that their relationship is, as of yet, not back on sufficiently solid ground, should his veneer shatter with the weight of his memories. So he told him that he would be spending the day with his father. Except, he explained to his father when he had called, that he would be spending the day with Chop.

This time, his father had actually attempted to introduce him to his new girlfriend. There had been other women over the years; ones he had seen leaving in the small hours, one introduced as a work colleague, another as a family friend, but never a girlfriend. In many respects, he’s relieved that his father had finally cast the ghost of his mother’s presence aside.

He supposes he couldn’t have been the only child that had longed for his parents to get back together, except that it had been a little more tenuous and a lot more complex in his case. For nobody, not even his father, really knew where his mother was at any given time. As a small boy, her nomadic existence had seemed romantic and ideal, and he had yearned for the phone call, summoning his presence to join her on her journey. With the passing of the years, the dream had faded and bitterness and disillusionment had seeped into its place.

Casting his cigarette butt to the floor, he recalls being a moody, withdrawn 15 year old who had been getting into trouble at school for using his fists when his father had finally had the conversation with him. Whatever explanations he had conceived, none had prepared him for the brutal truth; that he and his father had not been enough for her. She had wanted more- to see the world, meet new people, have new and exciting experiences. Being tied down to a life as a suburban wife and mother couldn’t have been further from her dreams, so she had simply walked away one night; no apologies, never asking for forgiveness and leaving no words.

By the time he opens the door next to the bookies, his mind is a whirlwind of contemplation. He notes the recent crack in the glass and smell of stale urine and his nose crumples in revulsion. It runs far deeper than the mild contempt for his own living arrangements and current circumstances but he can’t quite acknowledge that yet. The familiar gnawing begins in his abdomen and he opens the fridge automatically, in search of solace.

He intended the bottle of Bells to be a “treat”, something to get him through the actual day. Although he instinctively raises the bottle to his mouth, he places it back on the counter before the liquid meets his lips, admonishing himself for what he has become, more than what he had been about to do. Searching through the cupboard, he locates a squat glass; one that he is forced to wash up with soap, as he had long run out of detergent. The measure he pours may be ludicrously generous, but it was at least mixed with a greater volume of water.

After his second drink, he wobbles unsteadily across the room and yanks the armchair aside. Dust lays thickly atop his beloved vinyl collection and his fingers stretch out expectantly towards the one record, poking out of the top at a slightly jaunty and enticing angle. As he realises it is his battered and well worn copy of What’s the Story Morning Glory, bile rises into his throat, sending him running towards the bathroom. He ends up on the bathroom floor with his head between his knees, crying dry tears into the torn knees of his jeans.

His stomach still ails him to the extent that it would probably be easier to crawl to the sofa than to hobble back bent over. Poking a hand down the back of the sofa, he fishes around for the remote that invariably falls down between the cushions when he tosses and turns at night. His fingers brush against a small unfamiliar object, which takes quite some extracting as it turns out to be attached to a thin cord firmly lodged in the crease at the back.

It may have had some fluff and a paperclip attached to it, but the small leather bracelet with the sun and moon nearly has him running to the bathroom again. Instead, he swallows down the dry lump in his throat and runs his thumb roughly over the charms, his mind filling with the seemingly endless ways in which he had failed her and the words he should have said. Yet, in the eye of the maelstrom, a small seed begins to germinate, though it’s many months before it will grow to something with a recognisable form.

A loud banging at the downstairs door disturbs his self-indulgent misery. Trying hard to block it out, he grabs a cushion and shoves it over his head, believing it to be for one of his neighbours. The noise is starting to give him a headache and he leaps off the sofa in something of  temper and thumps down the stairs. He stops dead in his tracks, his heart hammering hard in his chest when he sees that the visitor is most definitely for him. A familiar face he hasn’t seen for months causes his words to stick in his chest as he stares, open mouthed.

“You going to let me in, you lazy bugger, or just stand there all day?”

He opens the door wider, still in shock, and follows the familiar back up the stairs.

“Fuck me, you really haven’t got any tidier have you?”

He shakes his head as questions flood his mind.

“So how’ve you been? How’s Durham?”

Archie raises his voice, looking at Finn. “You know you could have at least called, or sent a postcard, an email? You’re a fucking useless best mate, Finn.”

Finn frowns and shrugs his shoulders apologetically.

“Is that it? Really, Nelson? You know I tried to call you, several times, but it seems you couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone. Or were you too busy?”

Finn meets Archie’s eyes and then glances over towards the phone with a nod of his head; it lays unplugged on the floor with the flex coiled up around itself. His eyes then return to his boots.

“The fuck?” Archie steps back and appraises the small flat properly for the first time, noting the drawn curtains, the general mess, the dust and the overflowing ashtrays. However, it isn’t so much what he sees that bothers him. Something important is absent. Something that perplexes him and indicates that he probably should have come back sooner.

“Mate, where are your decks?”

“Bedroom.” Finn mutters, scuffing the toe of his boot across the carpet.

As Archie starts to open the door, Finn’s cry of “Don’t” comes a little too late.

Respectfully, Archie shuts the door behind him and pushes his glasses firmly back on his nose. His mouth opens as if he’s about to start off on one of his little speeches, when he notices Finn rubbing his stomach.

“You erm, ok?”

“Yeah, drinking on an empty stomach just doesn’t agree with me.” Finn responds, staring at the wall behind his friend.

“We need to talk, but you need to eat first, you numpty. While I go down to the shops, you’ll be cleaning up in here.”

Finn’s mind races in its search for plausible reasons for everything whilst Archie’s gone. But bin bag in hand, feelings of shame and inadequacy begin to infiltrate every last part of his being. He’d been doing passably well until this last week, when his fragile newly-constructed life had started to show itself for nothing more than the facade it was. He opens a window so he can smoke and lower his heart rate.

It’s clear from the moment they finish their food that Archie isn’t going to cut him any slack, and Finn perceives that it’s down to him. Words were what was required to save this friendship.

“I erm…I unplugged the phone because I’d been getting calls I didn’t want.” There, that’s something of a start. A bit basic perhaps, but a start nonetheless.

Archie’s gaze remains passive and stony.

“You see er… Katie, she kept trying to call me and however many times I said I didn’t want to talk to her, even if it were about Rae, she jus’ didn’t get it.”

“Oh please tell me you haven’t?”

Finn shakes his head. “It were a single fucking kiss. One kiss. A few seconds that I’ve regretted ever since. Not that it matters because the fact that it ever happened was bad enough.” He spits the words that leave a sour taste in his mouth.

“You know, mate.” Archie’s tone borders on threatening. “Katie intimated to Rae that there was something between you two. She specifically said that things between you two were over. Sounds a bit more than a kiss to me?”

“For fuck’s sake. You know what? People can think what they damn well like. She invited herself round here, saying she wanted to talk about Rae, that she was worried about Rae and me. Maybe I should have seen straight through it. Maybe I should have realised that wasn’t her main intention. But Rae had shut me out. I told her I loved her and wanted her back but she threw it back in my face. And yeah, I was lonely. For a second I thought, maybe the kiss would help, maybe it would be ok. But it felt all wrong and I pushed her off. I told her that there could never be anything between us because I still loved Rae. But she didn’t seem to get it. She called me from Bristol to say she’d heard things were over between us and perhaps we could give it a try.” He scoffs derisively at the memory. Glimpsing Archie’s face, he starts to pick at his cuticles, intrinsically aware that it’s nowhere near enough.

The words he’s forced down prickle and burn in his belly, nausea starting to rise once more. He winces, yanking out the cigarettes he had sat on, straightening one out and lighting it.

“The thing is, Archer. The thing is, that weren’t the worst of what I’d done.” Chewing the inside of his mouth, he summons as much of his reserves as possible. “I…let Rae down badly. In so many other ways. It were unforgivable.”

Taking a deep drag, he fills his lungs with smoke and holds his breath until the burning acridity becomes intolerable and he coughs it out.

“She… she were ill for a while before all of that. I… I suppose I knew, but just didn’t realise how bad it were. I tried to be what she wanted me to. I tried to be a good boyfriend, to love her and support her. I never wanted to hold her back, ever. You know she never told me about Bristol?”

Finn swallows thickly and glimpses Archie’s slight nod. “She told me our relationship were some sort of joke, that she never deserved me. But that were bullshit. Utter bullshit. I never deserved her. By the time I knew she was hurting herself again, it were too late. I’d lost her. I tried Archie, I really tried but I was never enough. I fucking love her but it will never be enough.”

Two tears roll down his cheek and he turns his head to wipe them away with a trembling hand.

“None of us realised, Finn. We were all as guilty as you.”

“Yeah, but I was meant to be her boyfriend. She was meant to trust me. But I don’t think she ever did, properly I mean.” He shakes his head wryly at himself. “I should have known. Maybe I might not have been able to say anything, but I should’ve done something. But I didn’t fucking understand.”

“Finn, it’s alright. You can’t put all of this on your shoulders.” Archie shakes his head with a grim expression. “With hindsight, I think we all saw that she was shutting you out, not talking to you about stuff. But nobody likes to interfere or say anything. I suppose we all thought you’d work it out, you’d get there in your own time.”

Archie’s words hang heavily in the air, rendering Finn temporarily mute. Somehow, he stands up, taking a while to find his bearings before getting two mugs out of the cupboard. He pours a measure of scotch into each, hands one to Archie, then downs his own.

“You know what’s worse though?” Finn’s reddened eyes seek out his friends’. “I didn’t fight for her. I could have said more; told her I loved her more often. I could have reminded her how beautiful she was. I didn’t have to call that break. I could have begged her to do long distance. And even after what I’d done, I could have gone over there and pleaded to speak to her, I could have said something. I could have tried to explain, tried to make things better. She probably wouldn’t have taken me back, I get that but I could have done something. Something to make her realise what a fantastic, unique and incredibly special human being she is.” He hangs his head low and rubs a hand over his face in exasperation.

The sofa shifts next to him and Archie’s shoulder bangs into his. “Another one?”

His nod is nearly imperceptible. The glug of the liquid doesn’t spell comfort or solace, he simply hopes for numbness. His fingers close around the handle of the cup, he brings it to his lips but then suddenly puts it back on the table.

“I couldn’t do it Archer. I don’t really understand why. I…I think I was tired…I knew I was never good enough and I think…I think some part of me just shut down. I tried talking to her, time and time again but…. she just didn’t want to know. And then I just couldn’t do it anymore.” He collapses sideways onto his friend’s broad shoulder and feels an arm loop around him.

“You never talked to anyone, did you? I mean, about how you felt.” Archie pauses, feeling the weight of his friend leaning against him. “It’ll be ok in the end you know. You’ll be ok and so will Rae. I know you’ve never been one for talking, but I’d always listen. You don’t have to carry these things alone, not now, not ever.”

They remain in silence for some minutes before Archie gets up and opens the bedroom door.

“What are you doing?” Finn’s voice is filled with a mild horror.

“Well, firstly, if I’m going to stay the night, I need to clear the bed. But secondly, I think you could use some of your own medicine. Come on.” Archie beckons.

It takes well over an hour to clear the bed and wire the deck, amp and speakers into a temporary configuration that will at least play music. Archie wipes off the dust with a cloth and pulls out an LP at random.

“No, not that one, please.” Finn pleads on seeing Screamadelica.

Archie sighs and purses his lips. “Could you manage something your Nan would have liked, seeing that it's…” He trails off.

Finn bites his lip hard, then makes his way into his bedroom and selects Ella Fitzgerald. The soft tones, suffuse him so quickly with such a turmoil of emotions that he briefly puts his hands over his ears at the sensory overload. But minute by minute he begins to relax back onto the sofa. By the time he and Archie,= both make it to his bed at 4am, they’re chatting quietly about shared childhood memories. Topping and tailing had seems unnecessary, given the evening’s events, so they simply turn their backs on each other and carry on talking until sleep finally takes them.

Strangely, the day he had dreaded for some weeks comes and passes with no grand emotional outpouring. He and Archie visit his nan’s grave, where he spends some quiet moments murmuring words at the granite headstone. There are no tears, no supplications for advice, just a quiet acceptance. Some days later, he will come to realise that part of his nervousness about the anniversary derived from the way it had become entangled with Rae in his mind. For they had spent the night of her death together. And she had been able to calm and comfort him, in a way nobody else had managed before and he doubted would ever be able to again.

The afternoon saw the pair of them nervously entering Town Records. They felt like a couple of naughty schoolboys outside, daring each other to go in first. They both felt foolish when Rob greeted them as old friends and questioned where the hell Finn had been buying his vinyl for the past few months. His sheepish answer elicited a laugh from Rob, who’d shrugged his shoulders and made some passing remark that life moved on and c’est la vie.

Finn took himself off to browse in peace while Archie and Rob caught up. Attraction clearly remained between the pair, but they seemed to skirt around the issue with small smiles and shrugs. It takes Finn half an hour to leaf through all the new releases and vintage additions. Although he thought he probably won’t t play them, he manages to select two LPs.

It’s tempting to leave Archie there, but he infers something from Archie’s posture and the stuttered conversation that it isn’t  the right time. And somehow, before he leaves, Finn lets Rob talk him into doing a few shifts; apparently finding people with a decent knowledge of music and the value of rare pressings had proved challenging.

***************  
**Over (Portishead)**

Finn tries to convince himself that he is staying under the stream of water because it’s both hot and soothes his aching muscles, and he’s grubby enough from his shift at the garage that a forty minute shower was, in fact, a necessity. He was running late when he got in, and he is now only delaying the inevitable. Yet, the scant comfort it provides has been sufficient that he hasn’t called Chop to confirm that the upset stomach he has been intermittently suffering from all week finally got the better of him.

He opens the door of the Swan, to immediately catch sight of the head of dark hair at the bar. But he hasn’t been quick enough to close the door, as Chloe soon waves him over. It would be rude and churlish to duck out, so he walks in. Izzy’s arms are around in him in seconds. It is only the second time he’s seen her since the summer. He’d missed her cheery face, her floral scent and sparkling happiness. She seems genuinely pleased to see him.

Even Chloe is remarkably friendly and neither as distant nor as mistrusting as he had anticipated. Naturally, she grills him about what he’s been up to and they both question how their paths haven’t crossed more in the previous few months, even though they knew but refused to voice the answer. He closes his eyes momentarily as a familiar raucous laugh pierces their conversation, rooting him to the spot. Chloe gives him a gentle shove, raises her eyebrows and is then pretty blunt about the fact Rae has been a little hurt that he’d not bothered to stay in touch.

The familiar ache begins in his guts, but bolting out of the door would only make things worse, so he politely sits down at the table. She smiles at him with a pointed “Hello stranger” and then continues regaling the tale that is causing so much laughter around the table. It’s was the first time they have all been together since the summer. The first time he’s even heard her voice, let alone been in the same room as her. Try as he might, he can’t tune into the conversation, it all washes over him and he lights cigarette after cigarette and makes polite small talk around the fringes.

Three pints within the hour bolsters his courage to the extent that he is able to glean that she is doing well and enjoying life. Her course is challenging, but what she had envisaged. She doesn’t have to tell him she is happy because he can see it. He thinks he’s gotten away with it when he’s managed to answer her question about how he’s doing with a shrug and, “Good, yeah.” But she giggles and asks when he was going to mention that he’s moonlighting at Town. He stares at the patterned carpet, in search of the right words, until she laughs again and says she’s only teasing and that she’s happy he is doing something he enjoyed.

The conversation quickly moves on and he finds himself outside, smoking once more, back pressed against the brick wall. Part of him wants to go back in, to not let the others down, as even he recognises that they want him to be there. That he still has a role to play. But the nagging feeling deep within simply won’t abate. Knowing that she is well and happy is enough. He thinks he has slipped away unnoticed into the night.

*********************************  
_Dear Diary,_

_I know I’ve been shit at keeping you up to date with the whirlwind that has become my life in Bristol, but I’m home for a few days, staying with Chlo. She’s passed out right now after one too many in the pub, so I thought I’d fill you in on the last few weeks. In brief mind, ‘cos I’m fucking cream crackered._

_Well, I survived my first term! Hooray for me. As you know, I had some major wobbles at the start and nearly chucked it all in on more than one occasion, but thanks to Chlo and my new mates Paul, Steve, Britta and Sarah, I did it._

_So , I was a bit late with a few essays! But they all got handed in eventually and my marks are continually improving. A big flip of the bird to professor Smith, who said I’d never pass an essay based on my first attempt. What does that stupid prick know about real life? I was homesick, missing my family, the gang and Chloe. I was really nervous about fitting in and finding people like me- people that like decent music, drink pints, are loud and like gigs. And, if I’m honest, people that are authentic, that are not pretending all the time, people that are honest. And when I wrote that shitty essay, I hadn’t found anyone remotely like that and I’d just seen Katie fucking Springer._

_I don’t even dislike the bitch anymore. I can’t be bothered, though I’d never go as far as saying she did me a favour. Well maybe she did, because maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have gone to Bristol had it not been for her. I don’t want to think about that right now. Especially not today._

_It’s odd, I thought I was ready to see him again. You know, at first when he didn’t get in touch, I blamed myself for what I’d said at the ball. He tends to take those sort of things a little too literally. He’s never been good at separating emotion from words. Mind you, he’s never been good with words full stop. And, I think I was right to be cross, and feel a little let down that he never even bothered to call._

_I was ready to call him out on it tonight, but not in the sort of way that creates a major scene. Because tonight was not about what was us, it was about the gang, about Christmas, and trying get a bit of strength back into those bonds that are ever weakening. But, when I saw him, I just couldn’t. He barely said two words and he was doing that thing, where he bites his cheek when he’s nervous or searching for a way to express something._

_It was a genuine smile, he gave me. Not pretence. Just for a moment, I couldn’t help but think how fucking handsome he is. I expect that he’s probably had half of Stamford’s knickers down by now. Well maybe that’s a teensy bit of an exaggeration as Izzy said there’s been nobody; not even a kiss. Well Finn Knobhead Nelson, I’ve had more than a few kisses, in fact I’ve done rather a lot of snogging since the start of November. There have been a lot of parties to go to! And yeah, I confess, I may or may not have shagged a rather fit rugby player for the hell of it!_

_I don’t really understand why he left like that, an hour into the session. The others were disappointed and Chloe just rolled her eyes. I wish I could have caught what Archie whispered to Chop though. Fuck. This is so fricking annoying. I know I shouldn’t be worried. I chose for him to be none of my business and he doesn’t really deserve it. But I’m a bit worried. I can’t pinpoint exactly why. He’s always tended toward being withdrawn when things aren’t right. I can’t help but think of the way he fell silent a couple of days before the anniversary of his nan’s death last year and it took a lot of coaxing and gentle lovemaking to get him to open up._

_Shit! Why did I have to think of that. Now I need another beer. Back in mo!_

_God Chlo’s snoring gently! I even managed to open the tin without waking her up. Now where was I? Oh, right._

_Okay, so I’ve cursed and sworn endlessly about that prick in here and what he did. And maybe I was a bit harsh when I said that I wouldn’t ever go back even if life goes tits up in Bristol. But I was a bit embarrassed about that bit when I implied that we could be together again. Yeah fucking right! It can’t and won’t happen. There’s too much out there, too much to see, too much to do. And this is just a visit. Stamford was never right for me._

_And you just don’t go back on things like that do you? First loves stay in your heart but you’re not meant to go back. You’re not meant to live in the past. And Finn’s the past for me. I’m glad I met him though. Maybe I should never have put him on a pedestal, maybe that was unfair… actually, I don’t want to think about that right now diary. You know the story. You know as well as I do that he wasn’t all shit. And getting back to the point, something was wrong in his posture tonight, that and his eyes didn’t seem as bright._

_Oh bollocks, I’m talking shit again. Why I am sacrificing sleep to write drivel about that tosser when I’ve more important news!_

_Mum and Karim are staying in Tunisia for at least another three months. I fucking miss them. Who’d have thought it? I always knew I’d pine for Jazz, but I even miss Mum’s shitty cooking. So, I am only here courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Gemmell. They’re not best pleased that I am here at all, let alone for Christmas day, but it’s worth their dodgy stares just to spend more time with Chlo. Then I’m off back to Bristol._

_I’m so excited as we’re having a massive new year’s party at Dave’s brother’s house in Northmore. Woo fucking hoo. Apparently he’s an ace DJ and it’s going to be like a mini rave!_

_But that’s not it! I’m  going to see Space, Radiohead and Coldplay all within the space of 3 weeks! Fucking brilliant. It’s a good thing that I took up the record store job as well as my shifts in the bar, otherwise I’d never be able to afford it. But my January is going to be top. And I think that’s a good thing._

_The uni counsellor’s alright. She’s no Kester, but she seems to put up with my loud mouthed tirades and silly jokes as well as she does the tears when I miss my family. When I explained that I struggle with January and the winter in general, she suggested I plan some things for me too look forward to. So here’s sticking two fingers up at you winter blues… January is going to rock!_

_Oh holy fuck! It’s nearly three am and boy am I going to pay for this and the snakebites tomorrow. Night then, and I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can._

***********************  
**Salva Mea (Faithless)**

He fiddles with his scarf to try and keep the worst of the cold away from his still warm body as he walks silently through the streets, past the bookies towards his new flat. The new year has brought many new things but his home is the one, which has brought him the greatest comfort. Actually, he considers it a relief above anything else. It is further out of town, towards his nan’s former bungalow; the opposite end to both his father’s house and Rae’s former home. More impractically, it’s a good half hour walk from both Town records and the garage. But the exercise suits him just fine.

Shifting his heavy record bag around to his back, he pulls out his trusty cigarettes and lights up, marvelling at how the exhaled smoke is barely different from the pattern his breath leaves in the freezing air. The set he played tonight had been pretty decent, even by his standards, and his knowledge of dance music is growing alongside his record collection. One of the first things he did when he moved in was to construct a set of shelves to hold his vinyl. Although there are still a few crates that remain untouched, not so much as even thumbed through, at the bottom, the upper shelves boast a collection that he can at least listen to.

He’d been faffing around, bored in Town Records one day and had decided to try out a couple of the new indie dance vinyls that had come in. He’d mixed before, DJ’d at the odd party but never thought it was more than a bit of fun, a way to ensure that crap music didn’t perforate his eardrums. Thinking he was alone, he had turned it up a bit and got into the swing, playing tune after tune using the earphones to make sure he spliced the next track in as seamlessly as possible. He’d been laughing away when Rob had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

There had been no way that he could pretend that he’d been working, so he’d shrugged apologetically. The expected dressing down hadn’t followed. Instead, Rob had asked if he would be prepared to step in as second DJ at some party for New Year’s Eve. Given his only option was a party at Chop’s, he had decided he might as well give it a try and had thought nothing more of it, but had borrowed a lot of vinyl from the shop. The night itself had turned out to be something of an education.  As soon as he had walked through the door, he realised that “some party” had been a deliberate understatement on Rob’s behalf.

The abandoned warehouse had played host to a huge rave hosted by a LGBT club. It had taken him a while to find his bearings in the seething mass of dancing bodies. Three cigarettes and a couple of beers and he’d still had a tremor in his hand when it came to his set. But the combination of Rob’s comforting hand on his shoulder and some rather cheeky words had caused him to chuckle and relax sufficiently to start playing. It had been more than enjoyable; it had been uplifting and just the start he’d needed to 1999. Because he was too polite to say no, and keen not to offend, he’d come home with four telephone numbers in his pocket, two of which had been slipped in whilst he’d walked across the dancefloor.

And somehow he’d become a regular DJ; a dance DJ, of all things. Though he chose to stick to the non-mainstream end of the market, often throwing in his own remix of an 80s classic. He’d never been a great one for dance music before, but some of the alternative stuff wasn’t too bad and it was safe, free from the memories that kept a lot of his collection gathering dust.

He wanders up the steps to his front door; there’s something grand about having your own front door, something more secure. He plonks his bag down on the sofa but chooses to leave his coat and scarf, on as it’s cold and the heating is more than a little temperamental. He wanders into the kitchen and makes himself the cup of tea he needs to wind down in order to sleep. Nighttime routines still are a weak point; the quality of his sleep is so varied, not helped by the small children living in the flat below. Nonetheless, the flat is still better than being above the bookies, incarcerated by his failures and memories.

Adding extra tea to the sugar, he checks his calendar to confirm the time he’s supposed to be meeting Izzy tomorrow. Chop’s away with his family, and Finn had seen her unhappy face when they’d been drinking last week and suggested he take her out for a cream tea one afternoon. He can’t pinpoint when or why their relationship had changed, but somehow in the days and weeks since Christmas, something of their former friendship had been rekindled. Though he considers it to be different, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Finn glances down at the mug, chuckling that he’d been sipping absentmindedly at an empty cup for the last couple of minutes. He puts it in the utilitarian stainless steel sink, which contains the pan from his supper that would need a great deal more soaking. He glances out at the small gardens out of the back of his block of flats and notices that one of the neighbours has yet again left their washing out over night. He shakes his head with a smile and pulls down the blind.

The bed creaks as he sits down and pulls off his boots. Hurriedly, he removes his coat and scarf and dives under the covers, still fully clothed, resolving that he would check the storage heaters again over the weekend.

Finn wakes up sweating with a slightly sore stomach; it isn’t the alcohol, because he never drinks more than a couple of beers when he’s working. Somehow, he’s not managed to shake whatever has been ailing his digestive system, something he ascribes to his lifestyle: insufficient sleep, often poor diet, alcohol, cigarettes. Slightly nauseous, he makes his way into the kitchen and puts the kettle on - before flipping the immersion switch in the hall cupboard with its slatted door hanging off the hinges. He’d vowed to fix that on the day he moved in, but the shelving project had taken precedence and life had just moved on.

Glancing down at his watch, Finn’s eyes open wider; the journey should have only taken 20 minutes and he is now distinctly late. This is not the auspicious start that the afternoon needs, and he quickly picks up pace and brakes into run. By the time he arrives outside the newsagents, he’s warm and a little sweaty, despite the snow lying on the ground. Looking around, he can’t see her and starts to curse his tardiness and general ineptitude, when suddenly a pair of arms fling themselves around his neck.   
“Thought you weren’t coming?” She grins.  
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as his brow furrows.  
“So, where you taking me for the promised tea, Finn Nelson?”  
“Er, there’s a little tea room off the square that my nan used to like.” He shrugs.  
They walk along making superficial chat about Chop, football and work until they’re finally sat down at the table. But it is only when the tea arrives and he’s drunk the first warming sip, that they actually begin to talk.  
Trying to stick to safe ground, Finn asks her about her course in needlework and fashion. Izzy fills him in on her endeavours and all the projects she’s been working on, grinning and making the sort of girly comments; he had no idea that he had missed so much. But then her face falls a little and she frowns, indicating that there is another reason why they are here, something she had really wanted to discuss.  
“Actually, it’s all a bit crap really. I mean the girls on my course are ok, but it’s not the same. And I miss us, I miss the gang, Finn.”  
Finn sucks in a breath and bites his bottom lip.  
“I…shit Izz, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I never meant… I mean…” He sighs and accidently kicks the table leg. “Perhaps it’s best I walk away and…”  
“No. No.”   
Finn looks up to see anger marring Izzy’s pretty face. “You don’t understand; it’s not always about you, Finn . But it’s all changed, hasn’t it? It’s never going to be the same again, is it?”  
“Life moves on, Izz. Friendships change, and people have to do new things, to learn and grow, and sometimes that means that friendships get harder to maintain. You’re still in touch with the girls, right?”  
“I’ve hardly heard from Rae. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times, but the only time I’ve seen her was Christmas. I know that Chloe has visited her a couple of times. But Rae, she was different, she organised things, got us all together, kept it all going when things looked like it was going to fall apart. It’s like she was… she was…” Izzy struggles to find the right word.  
“She was the glue.” Finn says ever so softly. That’s when Izzy’s eyes meet his and she nods.  
“And now, Finn, it’s just gone. Archie’s in Durham, Rae’s in Bristol. And I’ve hardly seen Chlo. I know she was Rae’s best mate but she’s so busy, I’ve not even seen her for more than 5 minutes since Christmas.” A tear rolls down Izzy’s cheek, leaving Finn bewildered and helpless.  
It takes him some moments to do something that used to come pretty naturally to him. He pulls her into a stiff hug, patting her back mechanically .   
“I just want it to back to how it used to be.” She’s crying now and this finally triggers Finn.  
He wraps her tightly in his arms, his posture softening. “Shush, it’s okay, pet. It’s all going to be okay.”  
“How can you say that, when you’ve hardly been around, Finn? I thought you’d given up too.”  
He’s taken aback by this statement. “Oh Izz. It’s taken me a while to sort things out with Chop and Archie. And I know you were really pissed off with me too, so I…” His mouth suddenly tastes unpleasant and metallic. “I suppose I thought it best I kept me distance. I mean, I don’t know. It’s been difficult.” He sighs.  
“But it would have better if you’d been around. Chop really missed you but he was too proud to say anything.”  
“Yeah, but I was the one who fucked up, wasn’t I? I mean, had I not made the biggest mistake of all and kissed Katie? And I can’t forgive myself for it, and I’m still not sure how the rest of you can…”  
“For god’s sake, Finn, is your memory getting that bad already? Don’t you remember I kissed Peter while I was still meant to be with Chop ?”  
“Yeah but that were different. That wasn’t the same.”  
“Exactly how?” Izzy’s tone highlights just how fired up she is.  
“I’d been with Rae for ages and…” He gasps as quietly as he can and can’t help but rub his stomach.  
“Finn?” Izzy pulls back and looks at him, her eyes wide and questioning.  
“Pulled muscle, must have overdone it at footie this week.” He responds, staring at the table.  
“I kissed Peter more than once Finn.” Izzy rumples her nose. “It was shitty of me and I know Chop was being so horrible to Archie and that, but it was still no excuse. But Chop forgave me and so did the rest of you.”  
“Yeah, but…”  
“Look, we’ve all been a bit slow to sort this out, but even Rae’s forgiven you. I know she has.”  
“Nah, it may have looked like that but…”  
“She would have punched your lights out for turning up at the ball like that if she hadn’t forgiven you.”  
“I didn’t deserve it, Izz. I still don’t, ok?” He takes a deep breath.  
“For god’s sake. It was just one kiss, wasn’t it?”  
Finn nods disconsolately and chews on the inside of his cheek. “I let her down big time. If the kiss weren’t bad enough, I hadn’t realised how bad things were for her, that she was ill again. I was meant to be her boyfriend and…” He winces and rubs his stomach.  
He doesn’t realise that the tears that pricking his eyes have escaped until he feels Izzy smooth them away with her fingers.   
“Bless you. I know you must have found it hard, especially because I know you wouldn’t have talked to anyone about it. I mean about how you felt.”  
Finn frowns. “But she was the one who was suffering.”  
“That doesn’t mean that how you felt wasn’t important too.”  
Finn looks up, remembering how close they had been in the days before Chloe and Rae. When she’d come to him when she got pissed off with Archie, Chop or her parents.  
He grumbles wordlessly.  
“Friends?” She smiles and he nods. “Well, we’d better eat some of these scones, do you want cream and jam on yours?”  
He shrugs and allows her to prepare one for him. But he knows it’s a mistake when he takes a bite and puts it back down on his plate.  
“You alright?” She asks.  
“Just going to get a pot of hot tea, mine’s gone cold.” He mumbles and wanders over to the counter, his heart heavy in his chest.  
Two mugs of tea later, during which Izzy fires endless questions about his DJ ing and the club, she suddenly falls quiet.  
“Erm, Finn?” She toys with the knife on her plate.  
“Yes m’dear.” His tone is overly jovial because he can’t take anymore of seeing this happy-go-lucky girl so deflated.  
“I erm… I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d do me a small favour. I asked Chop, but he’s absolutely refused and I think… well… you see, I have to make a suit for my coursework and I thought perhaps… you’d have to model it at the year-end fashion show and…”  
“I’ll do it, Izz.” He can’t refuse, however much he wants to, however uncomfortable it makes him feel .  
She hugs him, her usual grin lighting up her face. “And… you know a couple of the girls from class have been asking after you… perhaps I could?”   
He shakes his head vehemently. “No… no. I… I’ll model your suit for you, but I’m not ready for…”  
She tilts her head, seeking something in his eyes, and then takes his hand in her tiny warm one. “You’ll get there, Finn. In your own time. I promise.”  
He purses his lips into a tight smile and lets her chatter on for some minutes about the style of suit she’s envisioned. His brain switches off somewhat, so he’s able to join in and allow her enthusiasm to lighten the darkness that he works hard to suppress, a little. Soon it is time to go, so he walks her back towards Chop’s. They say their goodbyes and he promises to stay in touch, and come round for supper the following week. He only makes it three paces down the road, when, on the spur of the moment, she tugs his sleeve.  
“Promise me you’ll go and see a doctor.”  
He frowns and kicks at the snow with his boot.  
“In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never been ill, unless it was a hangover or drugs. Please, I couldn’t bear it if… you’ve always been like a brother to me, Finn.”  
They are hugging again as he mumbles some sort of assent followed by a stuttered, “Friends forever, yeah?”  
The walk home is dark, lonely and cold. He stops at Spa to buy some cigarettes, a few cans of beer and a loaf of bread. But then he spies an issue of NME and decides that he needs the distraction if he is going to get any sleep that evening. For every contact with gang seems to leave him disoriented and out of sorts for a few hours. To date, the only way to settle what has been stirred deep within has been to walk the streets and find comfort in the familiar landscape of his past- the paths, the bricks, the street signs, the gardens and communal spaces.  
***********  
_Dear Diary_  
Sorry it’s been a few days (ok three weeks) since I’ve last written, but everything’s gone a bit crazy again. Well not me, anyways!! Ha. Everything’s actually quite good. No, more than that, it’s really good. I’m on the train back to Bristol again. It’s quite empty, so I have been able to crank Weezer right up, find a table to myself and time to write.  
Firstly, I’ve achieved two double firsts for my key essays this term. They count towards year end marks!!! Apparently, I’ve got real potential and one of the professors has asked me to get involved in researching his book next year. Yup, little me from Stamford, working with one of the foremost literary minds in the country.   
I’m still seeing the Uni counsellor; she said it was up to me how long I wanted to continue the sessions. I know everything’s good right now. And I’m tempted to give it a rest for next term, what with exams coming up and drama group and all the parties. But I think I’ll keep going, maybe every fortnight for a while, just because, if it’s not in the calendar, I’ll find an excuse. And I suppose it’s a like comfy pair of slippers and a dressing gown. Ah yes, my toothpaste dressing gown sadly met its final demise after a drunken game of twister.  
I don’t know why I didn’t join the drama group sooner. I mean, I met them all at the freshers’ fair, but then partying took over a bit. Our little group hasn’t exactly held back on the snakebites, gigs and clubbing. Paul, Britta and I have been to more gigs in the last month than I’ve been to in my entire life. Some of the bands have been better than others. But we always make sure we have a good time, no matter what’s playing.   
Britta came to drama group with me and I’m so grateful, because I probably wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Joining an established group part way through the year was so nerve-wracking. I mean, we had to walk into a room filled with people who were all looking at us newcomers and trying to decipher what our motives were for deciding now was the right time. The funny thing was, it wasn’t Britta who led us into the room, it was me leading Britta. We’re doing Chekhov in the summer and I can’t wait.   
Okay, enough of the small stuff. Here’s the big news. I’ve got a boyfriend! Luke. He’s tall, dark and bloody handsome with curly black hair. And he’s the lead in the play. When I first saw him walking around in his great coat, I thought he was really hot. But when we got talking, I discovered there was so much more to him. He’s in the second year, a politics student, and he’s travelled to so many interesting places: South America, Africa and all over Europe. He’s going to Australia in August for a month or maybe even two. Yea, he’s a bit of a rebel and reckons it won’t matter if he doesn’t show up until a couple of weeks after term starts.  
Oh diary, he’s got these incredible piercing blue eyes that I just get lost in when he talks. And boy is he clever. He knows about all these obscure writers and poets and has the most incredible memory. And yeah, he’s got a great body. We’ve done it already, of course. He wanted to wait a couple of weeks to show that he respected me enough to wait until I was ready. I mean, I could have jumped him on our first date, but I wanted this to be different. I wanted sex to mean something. And it was amazing! He recited poetry to me whilst we made love.  Oh god, it was so dreamy.  
I can’t wait to get back and see him. We’ve got another date tomorrow night. He wanted to see me tonight, but I knew I’d be tired and yucky from the journey. Besides, there’s a gig I want to take him to tomorrow. It’s an avant garde band - all about soundscapes and the lyrics. I think he’s going to be really impressed! Well I hope so anyway. And later this week, we’re going to a recital evening - we’re going to read something together. How could anything be more romantic?  
Ah, sorry had to change the disc there. Mum and Karim sent me the money to buy a discman as a special present to cheer me up because they’re not coming back until the summer now. Turns out, Karim’s earned a fair bit of money and, on account of staying with his family, he’s saved up enough so that mum won’t have to work for at least six months when they get back. She’s so happy with her life right now and wants to spend as much time as possible with Jazz before she goes to school, so it couldn’t really be any more perfect, could it?  
That takes me nicely to Chloe and the gang. I’ve spent three nights catching up with Chlo. She visited twice last term, so it was only fair that I made the trip this time. Besides, I wanted to catch up with the others and Archie was home for Easter staying with his parents, so the expense of the trip made sense.   
Chlo is on top form. I think she’s finally finding her feet with her course. She may have struggled at the start, but she’s now managing the workload much better. She’s also made a barrel load of mates on the course. They’re not really my type at all - too business focussed and stuff. But a couple of the girls really know how to party, even if they drink wine!  
On my last night, we went down to the Swan. When will they ever do that place up? It really hasn’t changed a bit! I suppose I didn’t really notice it at Christmas, but now it kind of feels odd being in there. It’s sort of like stepping back into the past, into a world where only drinking and partying and music matter. But now I know there’s so much more out there; it just felt a little tired and cliched .   
Chop and Izzy are loved up as ever. They still haven’t got their own place, but neither of them really seems to mind. Chop’s saving for the deposit on a small house because he’s not keen on the flat idea - no good for parties, he reckons! He was in flying form, buying several rounds and getting the drinking games going. Izzy’s as sparkly and sweet as ever. I hope she’ll take up my invite and come and visit. I feel bad that we haven’t really stayed in touch as much as I thought we would. But we’re still mates. She confided in me that she’s worried about what she’s going to do next year when her course has finished. She’s applied for a couple more courses, but she’s not confident she’ll get in. I must remember to call her and find out how it’s going. Chop’s great, but he’s not the sensitive when it comes to these things.  
Good old Archie was… good old Archie. He hasn’t changed a bit! Still banging on about history at every possible opportunity. He’s still single, but apparently he’s had a few dates and a couple of one night stands!!! Good on him. He reckons he’s going to go to Egypt this summer as he’s getting really interested in archeology. I would have offered to go with him, but apart from the fact I haven’t discussed summer plans with Luke yet, I kind of got the feeling that he had someone else in mind to go with him. Oh, I do love a good mystery!  
And of course, dear diary, Finn was there. Looking as grumpy and disarming as always. This time we had a conversation of sorts, but it seems he has reverted back to mumbling and monosyllabic answers with me. I suppose that’s to be expected. This was only the second time I’ve seen him since the ball and, I guess with the break up and everything, it was wrong of me to expect him to be talkative. It seems that Rob had taken my suggestion regarding the DJing  and that was the one thing Finn strung a sentence together about.   
I’m pleased that it’s working out for him. Dare I say it, he’s always known his music and could make any party jump with his selection of tracks. He didn’t say much else other than to ask me how I was doing, but he did he seem genuinely interested in how my course was going. I know it was always going to be a bit awkward for a while. But it was more than that. It just all felt a bit off. No, that’s not it. He was different somehow. His eyes didn’t seem as bright and he was… I dunno. The best way I can describe it is like when you have favourite pair of jeans that you wear and wear and wear. And then you put them away and rediscover them some months later, recalling the joy of them being new. Except now, they’re faded and a bit stretched. Not quite as you remembered .  
It’s like Finn’s faded a bit. That beautiful smile he had, his sparkling eyes. For fuck’s sake, I’m being ridiculous, we’ve broken up, I don’t know what I was expecting really. He did look a bit washed out. Izzy said after he’d left early that he’d just been busy, that’s all. But it wasn’t just that. You know, I think he looked a bit under the weather; when he thought I wasn’t looking, I caught him rubbing his stomach. Perhaps it was bug? Yeah, that’s probably the reason.   
Right, that’s enough time wasted on my little trip down memory lane! Onwards and upwards to the next term. I’m a little worried about the exams to tell the truth. Let’s face it, last time I had to sit exams, I relapsed. I know I’m in a better place now, but yeah, I’d better keep up the counselling. The funny thing is, I think I can do them this time. I know that I’m good enough. I just have to study hard and get on with work for a bit. Probably best I hit the library, thinking about it, as Paul and Sarah aren’t exactly studious! I’m sure they’ll still be on the playstation the night before they sit theirs.  
And after exams, come the parties: end of year ball, two big dance events, the play and some gigs. I’ve lined up enough treats to keep me going all summer as a reward for the exams. Actually, I’ll make a start now. I’ll do some reading as it’s another two pigging hours on this train; and if I get the work down now - more time for drinking tonight! woohoo.  
Laters   
******************************  
**This Charming Man (The Smiths)**

 ****  
Finn takes a step back and admires his handiwork on the wall. He’s finally got round to framing four of his favourite album covers, something he’s been meaning to do for months. They provide some much needed colour in the greyness of his flat. He’s becoming fond of this place and its tatty, run down charm. The carpet may be threadbare in places, the curtains a relic from the 80s, the lino something that probably should be in a museum, but it’s slowly becoming home. He’d even had his father and girlfriend over for lunch. That had possibly been a step too far, too grown up and most certainly awkward, but he had tried.  
The albums represented a reward to himself for his new job. He shakes his head with a wry smile, realising that he wouldn’t have believed it six months ago if someone told him he’d be working four jobs. The runners post at the radio station had been his dad’s idea. The pay is shocking, but his other jobs cover the bills, so it’s just a matter of his time. And time is something he has plenty of. Apart from the regular footie nights out, gigs with Des, and Chop and Izz, he chooses not to involve himself in anything much socially.  
Radio Star had proved a bit of a baptism of fire. He’d been forever making cups of tea, locating vinyls, answering calls, tidying up, etc. In the first month, he’d been shouted at so many times, he’d become immune to it all. But once he’d learnt the ropes, he was able to do the jobs quickly and efficiently enough that he had been able to carve out a little time for himself. He’d started to scribble down imaginary setlists when he was in the vinyl store room, adding little comments and other possibilities. Fortuitously, as it turned out, one had dropped out of his pocket with his cigarettes mid shift. And some of it had made it on air.  
One of the late night presenters started joining him for a sneaky smoke after that slip of luck, which is how he‘d been given more responsibility. He’d been offered a trial on air, something he’d declined in favour of learning the ropes of sound engineering. Presenting is not for someone like him, someone who is no good with words , but he is good with music and sounds. He glances over at the table in the corner at the literature for evening courses he’d picked up from the regional college. Instinctively, his feet take him towards the paperwork and the half completed form once more. Maybe he can do it, even if it means dropping a shift at Town or at the garage.   
But then again, he had been no good at college either. He could have gone back and got some a-levels after he’d returned from Leeds as Rae had encouraged him to. But he’d known that he’d only make a fool of himself. Reading textbooks was one thing, writing decent reports was so far out of his comfort zone that he’d never really bothered to try. A corner of his lip curls up in distaste at the memory, but his hands begin to thumb back through the battered brochure. It’s meant to be a technical course, but the insidious self-doubt is victorious once more and he chucks it back down.  
Checking his watch, he curses his poor time awareness and jogs through to the hall and grabs his coat before running into the kitchen and retrieving his pills. He lights up as soon as front door is closed, taking a moment to enjoy the pattern of the curling smoke in the air. Tonight might be tricky, might be yet another time that requires excuses and an early night. Chloe is going to be joining them, making a four for the first time.  
He’s seen her a couple of times over the last two months, but they’ve always been within larger groups such that they’d never actually exchanged more than a couple of passing words, which suits him just fine. But something tells him tonight is not going to be easy. He believes that there had been something unpleasant to the point of being unsettling, damning even, in the glances that Chloe had thrown him when they had last seen each other. Something that had unnerved him to the extent of scuttling home with a “migraine.”  
Izzy understood and she had promised it would be fine. Their friendship has continued to lighten his darker moments, her hugs make him feel a little more peaceful, and her endless chatter has calmed him down. Although he’s always been the third wheel, he’s spent some great nights just the three of them, playing cards, watching films or on the playstation. Chop had laughed himself silly when he’d been measured for his suit. It had been one of the most uncomfortable experiences, battering his limited reserves of patience. But good old Izzy had smacked Chop hard on the arm, and pointed out that he hadn’t been man enough to do it himself .  
Of course, the footie lads had ribbed him no end about the whole affair because Chop couldn’t wait to spill the beans and could never keep his gob shut. They were all coming to the show, which is scheduled in a little over two weeks time and he’s battening himself down for the inevitable marathon piss-take that will follow. However, one thing Izzy hadn’t mentioned to Chop was the doctors. It had taken considerable nagging to get him to go, but the lifestyle changes he’d made, along with the tablets seemed to be calming the apparently perpetual digestion issues that had been troubling him for months.   
His feet pause in the Swan car park as if of their own accord, providing him opportunity to survey his surroundings in the late May sunshine. All of a sudden, it hits him. It must have been a year ago. A year since he last told her he loved her. The carpark begins to spin and tilt hazilly. He can’t quite find his bearings as waves of nausea begin to rise from his stomach into his chest. He grapples with the box in his coat pocket, taking an age to free two pills from the foil packet. His initial attempt at swallowing is rejected by the dry lump that has formed in his throat. They start to dissolve into a bitter, pungent mess on his tongue. Dropping his head, he tries to concentrate and swallow again.   
“What you doing in the carpark, you great numpty?” Chop’s hand claps down hard on his back, finally causing his swallow reflex to kick in.  
“I… er… ummm.”  
“Come on, beer’s inside, you knob. The girls are already yammering on about clothes and I need some fucking moral support.”  
Chop practically drags him into the pub and deposits him at the table, next to Chloe. He gives her the thinnest veneer of a smile , before grabbing his cigarettes and lighting up.  
“I see you haven’t stopped with those things yet, then?” Chloe’s tone is harsh.  
He shakes his head and tries to think of something to say, something worthwhile, but all he can manage is, “Alright?” which elicits a sleek roll of her eyes.  
He looks up to plead with Izzy for help, but she has vanished and so it seems, has Chop. Well-worn flight instincts start to kick in such that he is about to stand up when something stops him. Something that he can’t quite name, but it’s the same something that allowed him to take the job at Radio Star, got him to the doctors, helped him put up the albums on his wall.   
“How are you, Chlo? It’s been a while.”  
She raises her eyebrows and then breaks out into a long diatribe concerning her course, the disadvantages of living with her parents, the state of her car and a whole host of other stuff he isn’t particularly interested in. When she finishes, she fires off the question he’s been dreading.  
“So, you alright, Finn? I mean I know you’ve been avoiding me. And I can’t say I was surprised after what’d you done, but you could have made a bit more effort.”  
He swallows thickly, grateful for the pint that has somehow miraculously appeared in front of him.   
“I… uh. Yeah, okay I suppose.” From her expression, he ascertains it’s nowhere near enough and he has to do far, far better.  
“Look, I’m sorry about how things ended up with Rae. I made a mistake. It were a horrible shitty thing to do and I really regret it ok. But I can’t undo it, Chlo. As much as I wish I could, I can’t.”  
“There are many things I used to think about you, Finn, but I never considered you a cheater.”  
He sighs, throwing his head back, only too aware that he deserves this. When he looks back at Chloe, she’s sucking on her bottom lip venomously.  
“After the rave, in the Chippy, you told me you shouldn’t kiss anyone unless you really mean it.” She challenges.  
He grimaces as his belly contracts with force and then begins to spasm. Shutting his eyes, he tries to block it out as best he can and find the answer that he’s been seeking for so long.  
“I fucked up big time. If Rae had left me with any hope that things between us….” He pauses, replaying the conversations he’s had with Izzy, Archie and Chop. “In any case, I should never have done it. And you know something, Chlo, I have to live with that fucking kiss every single sodding day. Five seconds of madness that cost me so much. Not a fucking day goes by where I don’t regret it.” He bites his lip hard and catches her glaring at him.  
“Yeah, I am a complete prick. Should of pissing taken my own advice, then maybe I’d not be here, still feeling like shit over something I did a year ago. I know that sorry is piss poor, but there’s nothing else I can say or do to make amends, right?” He winces sharply as the griping in his belly grows.  
“You ok? You’ve gone terribly pale?”  
He nods with the tightest smile, but Chloe’s expression betrays that she is unconvinced. “Can I get you something, or do you need to …”  
“A cup of tea would be better than this.” He responds, pushing his pint away. “Barman knows how I take it.”  
With his cup of tea safely in his hands, Finn looks around to see Chop kissing Izzy in the corner.   
“Finn.” Chloe puts a hand on his. “Has there been… I mean, I take it you’re not…”  
He shakes his head. “I’m nowhere near ready. But I did go on a date with some girl Izzy set me up with a couple of weeks back. If you must know, I kissed her. But that’s been it since…”  
When he finally looks up, he understands that it was a test, as she softly responds. “I’d heard.”  
“What about you Chlo, found anyone nice?”  
“No, not really. I’ve been dating a bit. On and off. But more than off than on.” She giggles.  
“I’m probably talking out of turn, but you deserve someone decent, some special, especially after…you know. And I think that’s worth waiting for.”  
Chloe squeezes his hand. “You’ll get there too. I promise. There’s something you should probably know but I don’t want you to think I’m telling you out of spite or anything.”  
As soon as her words are out, he anticipates what is coming. Finding out Rae is very happy and secure in a new relationship is a bittersweet pill. The only words he can find are the sort he reverts to when struggling. “I’m happy that she’s happy. That’s all I wanted. Rae to be happy.”  
“We all deserve to be happy, Finn. That does include you.”  
He can’t raise his eyes from the carpet, so he nods, chewing the inside of his cheek.   
“Do you remember, many years ago, you gave me half the beer mat of happiness? Well, I’ve still got my half. And I’m pretty sure you’ve lost yours. So, how about I lend you my half? Just for a bit, mind.”  
He smiles at her. “Nah that’s yours, Chlo. They should be kept by their original owner, otherwise they lose their magic, yeah?”  
She shoves him gently on the shoulder. “I’ve missed you, even if you are an idiot.”  
“Oi you. Come out with us again won’t you? Much as I love Chop and Izzy, I’m always sat here like a lemon after an hour or two .”

Unfamiliar - Ride  
Finn looks around him, fleetingly basking in the fact it’s still light even though it is gone 10pm. The sunset is causing the most glorious hues of pink and orange to reflect in the large glass panes of the 70’s block of flats that they’re passing en route to his flat. Chop is prattling on about the DVD they are going to watch and Izzy is skipping along.  
“Look, you really didn’t have to.” He states, his good mood disappearing with the fast fading light.  
“Mate, we wanna watch the film, don’t we Izz?”  
Izzy nods and dances around Chop. “Oh, it’s not one of those horror films, is it?”  
“Luke seemed ok.” Finn ventures unsteadily.  
“Bollocks. He was a pretentious prick.” Chop  states firmly. “Come on, he’d hardly cope with the footie lads. Or can you imagine what the boys down the garage would think!”  
“Well, he might not be my idea of fun. But Rae looked really happy.” Finn concedes.  
“Doesn’t mean you have to like him though.”  
“Suppose.” Finn roots through his pockets and finds his cigarettes empty. He thinks that he could never feel as grateful as he does now,; remembering that he tucked another packet away in his bag. Lighting up, he inhales deeply, relaxing with each step into the familiar streets that lead home.  
He’d thought long and hard about whether he should join the others in the pub. Rae was only in Stamford with Luke for two days. Thankfully, he was working at Star Radio the previous evening, such that he missed the party that Chloe held in Rae’s honour. But he surmised it would look churlish if he hadn’t shown up this evening. The friction between wanting to see Rae happy, and not being sure he’d cope with the reason being some other man, had wreaked havoc with his digestion for the past few days.   
Despite reaching into his pocket and popping the round pills like sweets, they had little effect this evening such that he only managed to drink a solitary pint. But he considers that, despite everything, seeing the light in Rae’s eyes once more, the way her hair shone and almost glimmered in the evening air was worthwhile. They talked, albeit briefly; she to check on how things were going with the DJing and he to find out that she had achieved a first. He even managed a ten minute conversation with Luke, although he had no idea what they had been talking about really. He immediately had to confess that he’d never read Shakespeare or heard of that Russian author with a long name that Luke was so keen on. At least they found some common ground in music. It had to be music, didn’t it?  
He was aware of all the eyes in the room observing them as they talked. Rae held Luke’s hand, her posture stiff and her smile thin. Finn’s twitching fingers sought out some relief in the form of nicotine. Offering Luke the packet was the right thing to do. He was almost grateful when Luke not only accepted, but was the one to produce a lighter.  
***********************************************  
_Dear Diary_  
It’s me. Yes, I’m back in Stamford again. For a couple of weeks at least. And I have some wonderful news- Mum, Karim and Jazz are home. I never thought I’d be this emotional about them being back, but it’s been a really happy couple of days so far. I am back in my old old room, which Karim is planning to turn into Jazz’s room in the Autumn. Although this was my bedroom for many years, mum redecorated it back in college days when it became hers and Karim’s room. Plus, there’ve been tenants in in the interim, so it feels nothing like “my room.”  
I reckon that’s a good thing. I don’t think I could cope if it still had that silly wallpaper and all my posters up. It would feel too strange. And, at the same time, I’m even more grateful I‘m not in the room I had when I was in college. It’s still the same deep shade of red Karim painted for me back then. But that room has too many memories; some difficult, testing and disconcerting, but it’s also full of times spent with Finn. They’re contained in the carpet, the curtains, the view from the window, the stickers (some of which are still there!), the blu-tack marks on the wall, the cupboards and of course, the bed. Right now, I don’t want to contend with them. They need more time to settle.  
Jazz has grown up so much! She’s chatting away and running around the house all the time, leaving a trail of toys behind her. Mum copes remarkably well with the mess and destruction she brings. She’s genuinely happy: I can see it in her face, the lack of tension in her body and in the fact she’s actually not on a diet . For the first time that I can remember, she’s eating three meals a day and not snacking or buying lots of treats.  
Luke and I are still most definitely together; things have gone from strength to strength. Just before my exams started, I found this letter in my pigeon hole, addressed to Miss Rachel Earl. It was the first proper love letter I’ve ever received. Yes, dear diary, he loves me and he’s not afraid of saying it, or writing poetry about it. So bloody romantic! I told him I loved him as soon as I saw him after my first exam, when he came to meet me outside the lecture halls.   
The end of term ball was incredible, I wore mum’s red dress again and Luke said it made a real political statement, and he was proud of me and to be with me. But the play, well that was something else. Luke is so so talented, you could hear a pin drop when he was on stage; he was all height, posture and, intense but natural movement. He owned that stage, the play, and is absolutely king of all things drama. I may have only had a small part, but he said I brought so much to it- my characterisation was a clever mixture of realism and my own interpretation .   
He’s gone off to Edinburgh now, meeting up with some friends to discuss politics and put on some ad hoc street plays during the fringe festival. Naturally, he wanted me to go with him - he actually says that he always wants me to be there with him, by his side. I know he was disappointed that I haven’t gone with him, but conceded that it was reasonable I spend time with my family, given how long it’s been since I last saw them. He calls me every night without fail and we talk for hours and hours, mostly about what he’s been up to, because I don’t honestly think he’d be interested in what new words Jazz has said or how many nappies I’ve managed to successfully change.  
He stayed here for three days before he left. I thought Mum was going to kick up a fuss about us sharing a bed, but she said nothing; she didn’t even raise an eyebrow. That was a bit of a surprise given all the narky little comments she made when Finn used to stay over. She’d quite often knock on the door with cups of tea at some ungodly hour, probably in the hope of preventing any shenanigans. I know it’s probably because I’m older now, but I think part of it is because she really approves of Luke.   
She made some remark about Luke representing my new life and being the right sort of man for someone as clever as me. I don’t think she understands what he’s talking about half the time but she always looks interested and intrigued. And she’s never once referred to him as “pet” or “love” like she used to Finn. With hindsight, I don’t think she really ever liked Finn; I suppose she thought he wasn’t good enough for me, that it was just puppy love. Maybe she was right.   
It felt very odd to the point of dissonance when Luke and Finn met. I was terrified that Finn might get all angry and fighty, which he used to do when pushed emotionally. But he was quiet and calm. They even talked about music- politely, distantly maybe, but it was fine. Finn caught me on the way to the toilets to tell me he was pleased I was happy and had moved on. The funny thing is, he disappeared not long after; according to Chlo, he was under the weather. I was a bit miffed that Chop and Izzy chose to go with him because they were both exhausted from Chlo’s party.   
When we got home, Luke and I spent some hours dissecting the evening. He’s very interested in people and group dynamics and stuff like that. When I asked him what he thought of the gang, he said they were ok. But I knew he was holding back so I pushed him. His opinion is really important to me, and besides it’s important to talk in relationships and not keep secrets. I was a bit shocked at Luke’s words at the time, but they’re beginning to make sense now.  
Luke reckoned that, with the exception of Archie, none of the others are remotely near my intellectual capacity . He said they were all nice people, the sort of people you hang out with when you’re at college because we all need friends. But he didn’t see the friendships lasting; again with the exception of Archie. The others have all chosen to stay in Stamford, happy with their existence in a mediocre town with no great ambitions, no desire to see and change the world. And in the fullness of time, that would probably mean we would drift apart.   
I said that, although I want to travel, maybe I don’t want to change the world. But he helped me see that I do want to leave my mark on the world, so maybe he’s right. I don’t know why, but I asked him specifically what he thought of Finn. He was quiet for a while and then said he was surprised I had dated Finn for any length of time. Apart from the obvious, and his reasonable taste in music, he couldn’t see what else we had in common. He believes Finn is the kind of guy that just wants to meet a girl, settle down, have kids and leave in some dreadful suburban semi for the rest of his life.  
I know that sounds awful diary, but at least he was honest. And he was so gentle in the way he told me, choosing his words carefully, hugging me and confirming that, for those of us brave enough to take them, the paths to greatness are full of trials and tribulations. It is these that make us stronger and incite us to brilliance. Yup, those were his exact words. He is so bloody clever. He spent a lot of time that night, telling me how beautiful I was, how brave and how much he loved me. We made love for hours.   
I’ve thought about his words, a lot. And I think that maybe he’s right, that the others just want to settle for Stamford, and that that’s the last thing I want to do. I know there’s so much ahead of me; things I want to see, places to go, books to read, people to meet. And none of that would ever happen if I had stayed in Stamford. Bristol is definitely the best choice I’ve ever made. And I am so proud of myself - that I was brave enough to go. I’m going to make the most of my chance, because I’m never going back.  
But, whatever Luke thinks, I’m going to try to stay in touch with the gang. They’ve played an important part in my growth so far and helped me become who I am.  Chlo, is and always will be, my best mate. And I’m going to keep writing to Archie, he makes a damn fine correspondent. But I need to make more effort with the others; I really miss Izzy. She’s so straightforward, a breath of fresh air. Chop’s always stood up for me and fought in my corner and I miss his crazy parties, outlandish scheming and his laugh. And there’s Finn.   
Only this morning, I unearthed another of his vinyls, stuck in the middle of my collection, to go with the shirt that I’d almost forgotten was his. I wonder how much of my stuff he’s still got. We probably should have swapped it all back after the ball, but there wasn’t really a good time and now, well it feels like it’s too late. His things no longer make me feel tearful, or churn up old feelings, I’m now starting to remember the good times with him. No matter how things ended up, I’m able to accept that he really cared about me, and I him. And, I think that last year, I underestimated how important it is to have people, who care about you, in your life.   
Something’s still not quite right with him though. The others all claim he’s fine but overtired from working several jobs. They’re probably right, but… I don’t know. He still seems faded. Or like a jigsaw with a few pieces missing; not enough that you can’t identify the picture, but the result is completely unsatisfactory. Perhaps I’ll send him some music to cheer him up.  
Better go, Jazz is shouting for me and I’m loathe to miss out on any more time before I have to go back to Bristol.   
Laters


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long time coming but I’ve thought a lot about getting this right, doing the story justice and not rushing it for the sake of it. 
> 
> Thanks as ever to the incredibly talented and patient @how-ardently, without whom this whole thing would not have been possible. This story had the potential to break me in terms of its size and lengthy pay off. But I’ve found the love of writing it again.
> 
> I warn you this is quite melancholy still. Quite distant and possible depressing at times.

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side (The Smiths)

Finn sits quietly on the bench as dusk draws in, making the college seem that bit hazier and less threatening in the murky half-light. Despite his silent supplications to fate, it seems that his evening classes are to be held here, a place where he had never felt relaxed. A place where he had never achieved. A place that had only been tolerable due to his friends’ presence. But it had, for a short while, become so much more than that.

Somewhat wistfully, he gazes up at the building’s brutal, regular and utilitarian form- large windows, box like construction, flat roof, concrete panels, dated and worn paint- and a wry smile forms on his lips. Today represents his second first day here. The former had been some four years earlier. Unlike Archie, he had not turned up excited at the promise of meeting a raft of new people from schools all over the region. To him, it had merely represented another establishment, another set of rules, and a pile of work that he was likely to be no good at. He’d only gone because it was what everyone else was doing. He was not, is not, and is never likely to be, someone who wants to stand out from the crowd.

It probably would have been easier for him to have gone down the apprenticeship root like Chop. But a combination of not wishing to join the world of work and slightly surprising GCSE results had seen him enter these not so hallowed walls instead. He may have failed English, but somehow had managed As in both maths and social studies. So he had opted to study those at A-level, along with geography, partly because it was supposed to be an easy option, and partly because it provided some crossover with Archie.

Picking at the cuticles of his right thumb with his index finger, Finn continues to stare at the monstrous building. From his very first day, he had been careful to ensure he packed his Walkman, which had provided him with the perfect excuse not to talk to anyone. Nonetheless it had seemed that people, specifically girls, had wished to talk at him, or attempted to chat him up. In the beginning, the conversations and invites had been something of a novelty. It had quickly worn off when he had realised that he had very little in common with the majority of them, and none of them really understood his music. Some had pretended, but the charade had always unravelled fairly quickly.

Stacey Stringfellow had done better than most. She had an older brother and he’d secured them hard to procure tickets to a gig that Finn had longed to go to. She’d seemed alright, and actually interested in what he had to say, which hadn’t been very much. Nevertheless, she’d appeared to listen when he’d prattled on about his latest vinyl or had grumbled about the ongoing drama on the football pitch. One day, he’d sat down outside college for a surreptitious smoke and had been appalled to discover that she had been vaunting mistruths about their level of intimacy. Had that not been disturbing enough, her attitude when he had confronted her was to throw everything back at him, accusing him of not being sufficiently interested. Bizarrely, she’d then thrown herself at him, attempting to kiss and caress him in what was hardly a private setting.

That had sent him running. Their break-up had become public knowledge overnight and he’d found himself the subject of a ludicrous amount of gossip. He’d retreated into his thick flannel coat and the safe haven of the Roses. By the following week, it had died down and he had once again found telephone numbers in his record bag or shoved into his pocket. However, unlike before Rae had happened to him, this time they had been unwelcome, almost a reminder of his loss. Keeping his head down had been fairly simple. Archie had been not one for the limelight either. The only problem had been the footie lads, whose banter was overly loud and singled him out for extensive attention on account of his goal-scoring abilities.

Finn finds his restless hand playing with the corners of one of the pile of new textbooks that is weighing down his battered messenger bag. He can’t help but wonder how he will cope with studying now that he is not only older, but some years out of routine of it. Academically, he hadn’t really achieved much during his time at college, other than passing the resit of his GCSE English in his first year. Bunking off classes had become his speciality. He had quickly identified all the quiet nooks and crannies, where he could have a smoke and listen to his tapes in peace for hours. By some miracle, he’d managed to avoid getting suspended on more than one occasion. The head had caught him smoking at the end of his first year and he’d thought that would have been it. His father had been called in and had explained about how his grandmother had been taken into hospital. Even now, he assumes that pity had prevented him serving the mandatory two week exclusion.

Taking a shaky breath, he recalls how everything changed in his second year. For a short spell, he’d actually looked forward to the forbidding fence with its huge spiked gates. Recalling how he had waited outside those gates, for those red doors to open and the familiar head of dark hair to emerge, has him scrabbling in his pockets. His fingers close around the Marlboro first. The first drag takes the edge off his reminiscence sufficiently for other images to flood in; kisses stolen behind the bike sheds, turning up with a surprise lunch and gig tickets, her bunking off for the afternoon of his birthday.

As he grinds the butt under his boot, then heads towards the side door, he remembers that the last time he’d entered this building as a student had been after their first break-up. A time when he’d told himself to get a grip and put a brave face on. The last few weeks of his college life had been spent dating Olivia. From the first day, when she’d turned up in her Golf GTi convertible at lunchtime ostensibly just for a kiss, he’d inadvertently garnered a huge amount of respect from his peers. It’s not as if he’dd cared about their judgement. All he’d sought to do was to find a way of moving on, to stop the unsettling churning feelings that would not abate after Rae’d broken up with him. If only he had known how much more torrid and fundamentally soul-destroying it would be after 18 months of being with her.

Walking past the sports hall, he permits some of the more bewildering and disconcerting memories of his time here to enter his mind. Those of his second year; that brief spell when they had been at college together. Passing the disabled toilet, he can’t help but recall the encounter they’d had within those four small tiled walls. It had taken him some days to figure out that she’d been deliberately avoiding him and building distance between them. But he’d felt something in that kiss. He’d felt, in that moment, that he’d meant something to her.

With the benefit of many months hindsight, he understands that what had happened in that toilet, and her reaction, had been of far greater significance than he had ever ascribed to it. Even after his return from Leeds, Rae had been reluctant to discuss it, dismissing it as part of her struggles with college life and nothing to do with their relationship. Popping a couple of of wholly ineffective pills into his mouth, he recognises that particular moment as a portent, not solely of what would come to pass, but also of their troubles with communication.

He trudges a little slower along the endless corridor towards a classroom he has never been in before, thankful that its newness should improve his concentration. He’s not expecting much from the class, thinking it will likely be taught by some staid teacher in a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. However, his tutor turns out to be a late twenty-something, sporting jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt. The lecture is surprisingly straight forward; his on-the-job knowledge is actually far more extensive than he appreciated. He’s almost shocked when the slot comes to a close, seemingly minutes after it began.

Walking back through the corridors, he muses that he should probably be able to complete his assignment without too much fuss. Though, it will likely be last minute due to his numerous work commitments. He figures that he will have work harder on his diary, as Archie had pointed out to him when they were in Egypt over the summer. The holiday had brought them closer than ever. They’d argued like they were boys once more: complaining about each other’s snoring, their choices of food, destinations to visit and their disparity in energy levels.

Things had finally come to a head when Archie couldn’t find anything to wear because Finn had left his clothes and cds strewn all over their hotel room. So they had sorted things out in the only way they knew how: with a prolonged pillow fight. The resultant mess had taken two hours to clear up, but it had been accompanied by Oasis. Somehow, Finn had unintentionally included the CD in the pile he packed, for it was something he had believed he had believed he would need considerably more time to revisit. But as soon as the first strains of “Roll With It” had blasted out and Archie had slung an arm around him, dancing them around the room, he had joined singing loudly and almost joyously.

Finn had never believed that he was the type for exotic holidays, let alone anything with an archaeological slant. But he’d felt something shift within when faced with the wonder and marvel of the feats of those that had come thousands of years before. Archie had wittered on for hours and hours about the meaning and significance of the sites they had visited. The first couple of days had found him well and truly out of his comfort zone, wondering why on earth he’d agreed to the trip. But a quiet moment, wandering amongst ruins with his headphones on, had changed that. He had likened the feeling to looking up at the stars at night and feeling so small when faced with evidence of the spheres above.

But there was something else that had affected him far more deeply in those two weeks. He’d always known that he’d grown up in relative comfort; his family falling somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. Nights spent out in Leeds had brought him closer to the lower end of that scale. But Egypt had been the first time he’d seen real poverty up close. It had overwhelmed him at first. Archie’s research and instance on not sticking to the main tourist trail had brought him face to face with things he’d only heard about on the news. And, even then, it had seemed so remote that he hadn’t paid much attention.

Finn blinks, having been so deep in thought that he’s momentarily unaware of where he is. The block of high-rise flats on his right tells him he has unwittingly taken the shortcut back from college towards home. The flats are those situated behind the college’s sports field. He’d looked upon them many times when playing football. They had been part of the familiar landscape - just another housing solution to be found in every town.

This was the first time he’s ever been this close to the buildings when completely sober. Their pebbledash concrete facades are cracked; water drips and leaks from failing guttering. The alley between the buildings stinks of urine and something unidentifiable, but repulsively pungent. Finn notes a discarded pushchair with a broken wheel, torn sacks of rubbish and a couple of old tires all piled up together in a dank corner. He turns to look back at the block, its windows forming a pleasing geometric pattern of lights in the dark. Lighting up, he scrutinises the building more closely and works out that at least three windows are boarded up and the glass is cracked in a couple more. Loud shouting can be heard above the din of TVs blaring and the thud of a base line.

As he starts to walk back towards his own flat, a shoulder jostles against his, which is followed by a shout of “look out” slurred into his ear by alcohol infused breath. Only two minutes later, a couple of kids, who appear no more than thirteen, pester him for a cigarette. Despite his misgivings, he gives in, feeling somewhat intimidated by their brazenness and concerned by their scruffy unkempt appearance. Keeping his eyes affixed on the cracked paving stones littered with cigarette butts, he makes his way towards the lights of a small precinct that boasts an all-night cafe.

The cafe had been a favourite haunt with his mates for a late night burger and continuing the silliness after a night’s drinking. Their dalliances with its tea and chips had begun in their first year in college when Chop had discovered that it was open until 3am. God knows why Stamford needed such a cafe, but their crazy group had done their best to keep it open. He’d even brought Rae here for a quiet debrief after a crowded gig, where he had caught her counting under her breath. Although they’d never openly discussed it, due to her reluctance as opposed to his unwillingness, he’d been aware of her intermittent panic attacks. He’d observed how others making a fuss only seemed to escalate the panic and exacerbate Rae’s mood, so he’d always been careful to remain calm and as “normal” as possible. He’d never made a fuss, just rubbed her back or held her hands, paying close attention to her reactions and altering his ministrations to fit his comprehension of her requirements.

Finn wraps his hands around his cup of steaming tea and carries it to a small table in the corner. Depositing two damp sugar lumps in, he pulls out his cigarettes with a little reverence. Apart from an old lady in the far end, he is the only customer. Pulling the chipped ashtray towards him, he bites his lip, surveying what he thinks is familiar territory. The laminate tables are peeling at the edge, revealing the discoloured mdf underneath; the paint on the chairs is chipped, and the sign on the window is missing a couple of letters. Although he’d known all of this before, this is the first time he acknowledges it.

He’s pondering this conundrum when he catches sight of an elderly customer, shuffling up to the counter for another cup of tea; it’s free refills at this time of night. He tries not to stare as he takes into account her overly bulky appearance, surmising that she is likely wearing several layers under the stained beige raincoat. Her shoes are more than worn at the heel, the laces knotted and mismatched. Back at her table, she loads up the steaming liquid with four sugars and begins to sip slowly. Finn’s eyes focus again on the fast approaching bottom of his own tea cup, when he hears a lighter repeatedly click.

Before he’s aware of what he’s doing, his feet have taken him over to her table, and he’s proffering up his own lighter, flame glowing. The lady thanks him, making some small talk about it being a drizzly night and how much she enjoys the cafe when it’s quiet. For once, his mouth runs away from him, allowing him to join in this particular and incongruous conversation. Her parting comment about planning to stay for another cup or two because of the warmth in the cafe haunts him for the duration of his walk home. It will even have him disregarding his new self-imposed regime and reaching for the whiskey in quiet contemplation behind the locked door of his flat.

A Means To An End (Joy Division)

Finn carefully lays down the pile of vinyl in his arms on the table with a sigh. It’s a quiet afternoon in Town Records and he wishes to make a head start on the sort out Rob and he plan to commence that evening. They had become rather too laid back of late, choosing to listen to new releases, including rare Japanese imports, scoring them out of ten, or mixing up their own sets on the decks. As a result, the stock room looks like a dumping ground and even the boxes of vinyl out front are in whatever order the customers have chosen to leave them in.

Rob and he should have a good couple of hours this evening to try and restore some sort of order; sufficient, at least, to be able to undertake the obligatory stock take next week. Although Finn had teased Rob at first about being so uptight about tidiness and order, he had come to understand that the business was actually very important to Rob. He may not own the shop, but he manages it and the burden of it remaining open lies on his shoulders. Finn had never seriously considered the economics of the store; until a couple of weeks ago, he had simply been treating it as a repository for the best albums available, both current releases and vintage rarities.

When Rob had sat him down and explained the basics over a cup of tea and a spliff, Finn had started to comprehend that there was a fine line to be trodden between buying and selling. The sheer number of vintage records the shop held was problematic, as they didn’t even possess an proper inventory. That’s when Finn had suggested that they make a start with the mess and get the stock take of new vinyl correct before moving onto to logging and valuing the mass of second hand stock. Tonight had seemed like as good a place to start as any, for their only commitment was a bonfire and fireworks display on the common that started at 8pm.

Sighing, Finn decides to make himself a strong brew before he gets stuck in. As he fills the kettle with hot water, he finds himself mildly horrified at the accumulated scale coating the sides and element. But contemplating buying some acid to eat away at the chalky deposits is not distraction enough. Bonfire night had always been a family tradition when he had been young, a marker that winter was approaching. As a small boy, he’d held tightly onto   
Nan’s hand as they watched the fireworks burst into the dark sky. The technicolour, glittering explosions had ignited something within him, such that he’d never been perturbed by the accompanying loud bangs like other children. It had always been a night of spectacle and wonder which left him feeling inspired. The evening would be capped off by watching the lighting of the bonfire before making their way back to her bungalow for weak tea and crumpets.

Dropping a teabag into a mug whose writing had long worn off, Finn considers that it wasn’t simply the illumination of the dark November sky and leaping flames that had continually drawn him; it was the sense of event and community that came with it. As he’d become a teenager, he’d still gone with his nan, even though his mates had been there. They would all watch the fireworks and bonfire together, and either he or his father would walk his nan home before he re-joined his friends to party.

When he was 16, his grandma’s health had begun to deteriorate and yet she had insisted on attending the annual ritual for one last time. Arm in arm, they had stood on that unseasonably bitter night. Finn recalls how her face had lit up at the glorious sight that had unfolded in front of them. By the time the bonfire had been lit, he’d felt her waiver a little and had been planning a quiet departure. But Chop had known. He, Chop, Izzy and Archie had accompanied her back to her bungalow, where he had set the tea and toasted the crumpets, whilst Archie lit the fire. They had laughed at her tales of years gone past and fond recollections of Finn as a small boy and before they’d known it, midnight had come and passed.

The shop’s doorbell jingles, so Finn pokes his head out to see Rob grinning, bearing two carrier bags. “Supplies.” He announces, before turning the sign on the door and locking it behind him.

They spend the first hour accompanied only by Radiohead, as they methodically leaf through the bins and restore some order to the front of house, each working quietly through their own section in their own fashion. The mood is punctuated by them waving the odd album at each other and sharing a look, or a laugh. When the needle hits the centre of the B-side, Rob decides to call a break.

Finn is midway through eating his second donut, scraping the jam off his chin, when the concept that had been troubling him for some weeks finally forms into a fledgling question.

“You satisfied working here, Rob?”

Rob looks up, somewhat startled. “Course I am, you div. I manage the place.”

Finn chews his lip. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Rob frowns and takes a sip of his tea, assessing the way Finn nibbles at his cuticles whilst concentrating intensely on the images on the back of Three Imaginary Boys.

“What is it, Finn?”

“Nothing, just thinking about… about this album.” He grumbles.

“Come on. As if you didn’t already know which symbol represents which track. What’s bothering you?”

“I… err. Are you happy with your life? I mean, here in Stamford and at this place.”

Rob’s face scrunches up as something of the semantics of what Finn is clumsily stabbing at begins to dawn on him.

“You know, I had a place to study geography at Leicester University that I was supposed to go to after my gap year. When I arrived back after 6 months in South America, my mind was already made up. I chose not to go. Not because I’m lazy, or was uncertain about what I wanted to do with my life. I chose this.” He gestures around at the shop.

“I would have come out of university with a mountain of debt, which may have been worthwhile if it was going to lead to the kind of job that warranted a degree. But I knew I’d be happy here, surrounded by vinyl in Stamford. Maybe I’ll move on to somewhere else in the future, maybe my band will take off. But if none of that happens, this is enough. I have a home, a decent job, the band, my mates and family here.” Rob smiles at Finn.

“But what about… I mean, weren’t your family disappointed?”

Rob fiddles with the shark’s tooth hanging from a leather cord around his neck. “It took a while. I suppose that has been the biggest barrier- what other people think. It was harder to take when I was fresh out of college; the weight of expectation was huge. But even back then, I knew there was no point doing something purely because that was what society expected. Not all of us are destined for white collar jobs in the city. There’s no shame in having no great career expectations, Finn.”

“I suppose.” Finn kicks one boot against the other.

“There are plenty of people here and in other towns across the UK who are content with their lives, which some might label as “pedestrian”. They live in ordinary houses, on ordinary streets and work in jobs as opposed to having careers. They get married, start families and enjoy themselves. They have hobbies, go to parties and are part of the community. What’s remarkable about them is that they are unremarkable. How is their existence any less valid than that of a…” Rob’s hands cast around in the air, “a jetting heart surgeon who’s married a model and founded some global charity?”

Finn snorts in derisive mirth.

“Ok, ok.” Rob holds his hands up as if in surrender. “That’s a bit over the top. But do you catch my drift? There’s nothing wrong if it’s your ambition to stay in Stamford and work in a record shop, or becoming a sound engineer and working on the radio.”

Finn nods his head as the cogs whirr. “Well, I don’t know if I’m going to pass the course yet, or where that’s going to take me. But I do like it here. I’ve got mates and footie and the DJing. It’s good. Better than I thought it was going to be. It’s not as if I’ve ever really thought about Uni, just with the others having gone, I’ve begun to wonder.”

“That’s only natural. Archie was your best mate and Rae, well, I know how close you were.” Rob trails off and swallows, realising what he’s missed in their interaction.

“Do you miss Archie?” Finn’s blunt question blindsides Rob, who’s standing with his mouth open in confusion for some seconds.

“Sorry, I had no right to.”

“Archie and me, we hardly knew each other. We were nothing like you and Rae. Had things been different, I would have liked to have had the time to get to know him. To see if there was more to it than just guitars and the obvious.” Rob’s head tilts to one side. “But as the Stones sang ‘You can’t always get what you want.’” He grins at Finn.

Finn sniggers a little as he idly thumbs through the records in front of him and pulls out a first pressing of Joy Division’s Closer. He studies it with intent, pulling the vinyl from the inner sleeve and putting it back again.

“Why don’t you send it to her?”

Finn looks askance and frowns.

“You know, it is the sort of things friends do.”

“But…” Finn pauses, considering this course of action. Then he grabs a flyer from the pile nearest him and rapidly scribbles a note, before placing in on top of the LP which he lays flat on top of the crate in front of him.

Suddenly, it’s whipped away lithely by Rob. “I’ll post it with the orders in the morning.”

Finn’s mouth contorts into a lopsided grimace.

“You’re over thinking it, Finn. Now it’s time to get back to it. How’s about some Blur?”

Finn’s face quirks into a half smile. “So erm, who has got the superior music knowledge. Me or Rae?”

“Fuck off. You know I’m not going to answer you, cheeky bastard.” Rob chortles and lowers the needle onto the spinning vinyl.

Doing The Unstuck (The Cure)

Finn glances at the clock and curses. He should have finished listening to the discs at least an hour ago. But the very last one, which isn’t on his list to assess, called to him on account of the mix tape drawn on its tatty label. He denigrates himself for making a music choice based on a doodle, but, contrary to all expectations, it’srather good. The female vocalist had a rich voice that was fragile in the higher register, and she was singing along to an unusual synth accompaniment, such that he would have bracketed as trip hop.

It’s very tempting to take a few more minutes to make a quick copy of the disc and pop it in his pocket, but he’s not really sure he’s brave enough to give it to her. Once again, he has to remind himself that their time of arguing over music has long passed and he has just devolved into Finn Nelson, a guy who works in Town Records, a guy that she used to know from her college days. Wincing, he gets to his feet, pops another pill and grabs his jacket and bag. He’s already reaching in his bag for his lighter as he walks along the corridor to back entrance of the industrial unit that is home to Radio Star.

The last week has physically taken its toll on him. The DJing that had commenced a year ago, purportedly as a favour to Rob, has increased to regular slot across a couple of clubs. He may never be the headline name or playing on the most popular nights, but he enjoys it, and the pressure keeps him on his toes. There have been extra nights playing in clubs in the run up to Christmas, leaving him worn out from the continual 2am finishes, followed by getting up for a shift in the garage or at Town. He’s been socially drinking again, and grabbing what fast food he can in order to save time.

Pressing his back against the corrugated metal building, he lights up and takes three soothing deep drags gazing out into the frosty night. Feeling a line of rivets pushing into his skin as his weight shifts, he can’t help but recall how he’d stood out here having been faced with an opportunity which had sent him into something of a tailspin: hosting a live show. The producer had intermittently hinted at the prospect, but he’d always imagined that were it were to happen, he would play wingman on the show; providing a little bit of expertise, introducing some new tracks or possibly playing one of his own mixes. But illness on the host’s part had left him front of the queue. Except that when faced with the reality, he hadn’t been so sure that’s where he wanted to be. DJing in a club was one thing, but live on air? That required banter and he remains only too aware that he’s lost too many battles with his words.

In light of the subject matter, there had been one person he had instinctively wished to turn to, to discuss his fears with, knowing that she had been capable of bringing the best out in him; somehow unlocking the words that he struggled to find. But deep down he’d recognised that he could no longer countenance that option. Given that she had sent him a brief postcard thanking him for the LP and left a number, he could have called her. He’d tried to make his fingers tap out those digits on the phone in Town the afternoon before he was due on the radio, but they simply wouldn’t cooperate. Sickness had hit early in the evening before the show. He’d told himself to get a grip and had gone for a long walk, sitting outside Nan’s bungalow for half an hour before leaving for the station. The familiar honey bricks glinting under the streetlight in the heavy frost had provided lean, but sufficient comfort.

The show had gone well. Better than expected, if he’s prepared to be brutally honest. He’d stumbled and stuttered over the niceties of introduction, but once on the subject of his lifelong muse, his music, he’d been okay. His hastily conceived plan of pretending that he was in a club had even allowed him to mix a couple of tracks on air with considerable success. Envisioning that he was once again a teenager in his bedroom, playing to himself or to an audience of one had worked. Management had asked him to do a fortnightly slot on new music as a result.

As his feet begin on the well-trodden path back towards the Swan, he considers whether he could, or should, impart this news to the gang. Maybe it would be safest to start with Archie, as not living locally anymore, he would not be able to tune in. Or perhaps he could confide in Izzy, she would be genuinely happy for him and they could have a debrief over a cup of tea. Chop was another matter. Much as they were mates and drinking buddies, Chop still had a big mouth and as he thinks it over, it becomes apparent that he’s not quite ready for everyone to know. His slot represents trial on the part of the radio station, and an experiment on his.

Almost as if he had been living in a dream constructed of tiredness and self-preservation that he has suddenly woken from, he stops stock still in the street. He’d been dreaming of the ball again recently, of those last few moments that they had spent together. The hurt about the fact that he and Rae had broken up had ebbed sufficiently that he was starting to contemplate the way in which things had ended, as opposed the irrefutable fact that they had ended. But his mind kept whirring round in ever decreasing circles, for the cold words she had shared on the bench could not make any sense of the way they had danced together, the way she had wanted to be with him that night.

Desperately, he scrambles in his pockets, only to find the foil sheet empty and finds himself apologising to some passers-by for his foul language. He has to fight his feet to keep walking in the same direction, towards what portended to be an evening that could worsen the impending sense of discombobulation. Deciding to drink pretend shots in amongst mixers, he feels a little stronger.

Pulling the door open, he keeps his eyes focussed on the bar, which he makes a beeline for. He’s grateful that his drink is presented before Izzy and Archie join him. Having bought the round that they had ostensibly arrived to buy, he follows them back to the table. Sitting down next to Chop, he pulls out a tin of tobacco and commences a ritual he’s only just gone back to after a few years of Marlboro. When he looks up, he immediately notices her.

He’s thankful he has time to avert his gaze and fiddle with his roll-up before she clocks him. Dissatisfied with its lumpy fat appearance, he unpacks it and re-rolls it, not once, but twice. Nervously, he raises his eyes from his hands to find her smiling at him, something which strangely settles him a little.

The group’s conversation is loud, raucous and replete with everyone’s latest tales of iniquity. With Rob’s encouragement, he contributes a little but ensures that he buys his own drinks. It’s on his third run to the bar that he feels a familiar, yet foreign, touch on his shoulder.

“Hello.” She smiles at him, her eyes luminous, rendering him momentarily speechless.

“Hello, my dear.” He stumbles, unsure of why those words had left his lips.

“I wanted to say thank you for the LP. Top choice Finley, dare I say it.”

He laughs a little, but his eyes don’t crease up. “I got the postcard.”

“Saying in person is more meaningful, dickhead.” She retorts.

He smiles warily as she fishes something out of the unfamiliar burgundy corduroy bag covered in roses, that is slung over her shoulder. He’s still wondering whether she bought it herself or if it was a gift, when she starts talking again.

“I was going to post this, but I thought…here you go.” Rae somewhat perfunctorily passes him a square bag.

Slowly, he unwraps the brown paper and frees the contents. He can’t help the lopsided grin that forms on his lips.

“As I recall, yours got trashed at that party at Chop’s when we had the silly string fight.”

He remains silent, staring at the cover of The Cure’s Wish LP, trying to suppress the tangled ball of emotion evoked in his chest.

“I hope it’s ok. It’s just, I didn’t know what else you’ve been buying. What with DJing at the club, and working at Town, I should imagine your collection has grown…”

“It’s cool. I umm… yeah, I’ve always liked this one. Thank you.” His words form small stuttered clumps.

He’s still lost in thoughts of the album and what, if anything, this means, when he senses her arms wrap around him, rendering him even more perplexed as to how to act. Slowly, he brings one hand up and pats her softly on the back with a rigid palm.

“I’ve missed you, Finn.”

He freezes as his brain tries to process what she’s saying, and then he shivers.

“I’ve missed us being friends.”

Warmth courses through his veins once more. “Me too. Even if your music knowledge isn’t quite as good as mine.” He jokes, in an attempt to lessen the tension inherent in his sinews and muscles, which almost makes standing up feel uncomfortable.

Rae seems to hold him for an unnaturally long time, and he can’t be sure that there isn’t a tear in her right eye when she stands back.

“How are you, Rae? I mean, how’s all the stuff going?” His words feel clumsily cobbled together.

“It’s still ups and downs. Good days and bad ones. But the good are far outnumbering the bad right now. And I’ve found someone good to talk to, which helps.”

“Do you… do you think it’s better to talk to a stranger about these things?” He chews the inside of his cheek hard, whilst glaring at his boots.

“Probably. They’ve got the distance to help give you the perspective. And you don’t have to see them every day, as a constant reminder of… Look, what about you? You getting on ok? Rob seems to think you’re shaping up to be an excellent DJ!”

He chortles wryly for a second and then nods. “Yeah I’m… things are fine. Yeah, fine.” He swallows down the acid in his throat and fumbles for his lighter.

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s looking down at his watch. “Shit, I’ve got to…” He pauses and takes a risk in a gesture that used to be so organic, so commonplace: he picks up her left hand in his.

“I’m at Town on Thursdays and Saturdays, you know the number. We can discuss new releases and that.” His voice is low and a little unsteady.

She tilts her head to one side. “I’d like that. But just you remember, Finn Nelson, that I work in Bristol's’ most exclusive record shop. You’re not going to get one up on me.”

His warm laugh has died by the time he gives her hand one final squeeze and then runs out of the door.

***************************  
Dear Diary

What a Christmas break this has proved to be. I say break, I mean more like Piccadilly bloody Circus in rush hour, in the week before Christmas! Ha!

Right, let’s get you up to date with the important news.

Paul, Steve, Britta and I visited Sarah’s house in Birmingham for a couple of nights when term finished. We went to a great gig - some local band I’d never even heard of. (Are my standards slipping? I bloody hope not!) But it was a great way to kick off the holidays. Sarah’s parents are so relaxed - the five of us all kipped in one room in our sleeping bags and we stayed up most of the night after the gig. We haven’t been spending as much time as we used to together in Bristol: Paul’s got a girlfriend now, Britta is dating some mystery man, Sarah’s always involved in some activity or another, and I’ve got Luke. What with all the essays we are meant to be writing, and theatre group, I’ve not had as much time as I’d like, just to do, well nothing.

There was something really special about lazing about in our sleeping bags and eating breakfast as a group in the middle of the day. We could have talked the world onto a different orbit given more time. However, Sarah had organised an afternoon out in the big city. Britta knows her shops but, to be absolutely honest, she’s not quite up there with Queen Chloe. We all picked out new sparkly outfits for New Year, whilst the boys went to some comic store. My outfit has a huge rainbow of sequins, which all glitter against a black background. I’m thrilled with it but I’m keeping it hidden until the day, as I’m not really that sure what Luke’s going to make of it. His clothing is kind of a uniform of black and grey.

Thinking back to my Bristol mates, it’s clear that we’re all so different, but that’s kind of what makes us fit, what makes our little group work. I’m bit worried about Steve though; he’s been a bit off of late. I don’t think his crush on Britta has ever died. You’d think that dating within a friendship group would be an obvious choice; after all, being friends in the first place should provide a solid basis for going out. But I’ve come realise it’s not at all straightforward. And it can affect the rest of the group; cause disagreements and that. And what happens when you argue or break-up?

And now for the big news! I have had my first Christmas away from Stamford! Boo bloody hoo!! I spent five days in Surrey with Luke and his family. Yes, my little revolutionary actually comes from a middle class family in Surrey! Their house is large with an extensive garden, which has a little orchard at the bottom. Though it wasn’t exactly much to look at on a pissing cold winter’s day. Ever the romantic, Luke says I should come and stay again after the June exams, and sit on the bench his father made. He’s promised to read me poetry under the blossom of the cherry trees. Well, I suppose that will be something to look forward to when I’m studying hard. But it’s bloody months away right now. Sometimes I wonder if I’m missing the point with him and the things he says?

Luke’s family are different. But what from? Maybe from what I expected? They have breakfast listening to Radio 4, which always seemed to kick off some sort of political discussion. To tell the truth, it was all a little over my head. But Luke’s so passionate and fiery when it comes to defending the principles he believes in, so I was a more than interested bystander. It’s funny, although he was always canvassing the opinions of his father and siblings, he never once asked me what I thought. He probably knows that I wouldn’t have an answer, at least not one like his father or brother would give. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t have an opinion or ideas, perhaps I just don’t express them in the same way that they do?

Christmas Day was different to what I am used to: there were no stockings. I ask you, how is that normal? (Mum always made me one, long after I stopped believing in Father Christmas. She would fill it with a mixture of useful things like new pants and socks (boring as child but then appreciated as a teenager) and little knickknacks and cosmetic samples and stuff.) Neither was there any early morning rush to rip wrapping paper off presents or any major arguments. The day began like any other, then Luke’s parents and siblings went to Church. I am grateful that, at least, he understood that I really didn’t want to go, even if it earnt him a disapproving look from his mother.

We ate lunch about one pm. Everyone was expected to help with the food prep and the cooking. It was a huge three course meal with a turkey that had gone into the oven sometime during the morning. None of it was burnt or mistimed, which oddly made me feel a bit homesick. Afterwards, we all had to help clear up. Luke and his siblings disagreed with their parents when it came to the Queen’s speech. Luke’s father stated firmly that you don’t need to believe in the concept of monarchy to watch. It was all rather uncomfortable, but us youngsters hung out in the kitchen, drinking brandy. Finally, we all got to swap presents. I received a £25 book token and a scarf from his parents. I think my presents must have looked like cheap tat in comparison but money’s still bloody tight and I wanted to spoil Jazz, so I hardly had anything left to spend.

Even now, I’m not sure what Luke’s mum must think of me buying her Bromley bath salts. I know she’s Luke’s mum, but try as I might, I just can’t warm to her. She has this way about her. It felt like she was always looking down her nose at me. Maybe I’m being paranoid but I don’t know, it seemed as if she thought I wasn’t good enough.

Anyway, Luke seemed pleased enough with the first edition plays I had managed to hunt down for him. Hunt down being the correct word for the wild goose chase that took tons of phone calls and hours trawling through second hand bookshops.

Luke’s present to me was a cloth bound edition of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, inscribed with his own poem. How can you get any more romantic? Swoon central!!! He’d also bought tickets for a production running in early February, which is so thoughtful. It’s always good to have something to look forward to after the bright lights have been taken down and winter is battling on.

That brings me quite neatly to Stamford. I was kind of relieved to find out that Mum and Karim had decided that they would put up a tree and lights for Jazz because she adores them. Apparently they had discussed it at length and decided that the tree and lights were secular enough for it to be acceptable. I’m only just starting to understand that mum is far more switched on than I’d ever given her credit for. When she wants to find a solution, she’ll work really hard to find a compromise. I wish I’d been more aware of this when I was living with her. But when you’re a hormonal teen, loathing your parents is part of your raison d’etre.

It’s much more peaceful between us now. And I like that. Don’t get me wrong though, she still gets on my tits and winds me up. But she is my mum. The time I spent with them and Jazz was magical. I don’t think I’ve said enough times how much I love being a big sister. Jazz is always chatting to me now and following me about. She wants to do everything with me. And I mean absolutely everything. She even followed me into the toilet this morning! Her current fascination is earphones. So, I decided to start her education early and played her some Roses tracks. She seemed to like them; Mum told me off for getting her so hyper that she didn’t want to sit down and eat lunch because all she wanted to do was dance along to music, wearing her favourite pink tutu with a batman cape.

The one big downside with Jazz is the age gap. It’s not the actual gap per se, but the fact that I’m can’t be around that much due to being at such a different life stage. I feel I’ve missed out on so much every time I see her. If I had more money, then I could travel back more often, but it’s not that simple either. Uni life is so hectic that time is one of my biggest problems; or lack of it, anyway. For the first time, I’m really feeling the distance between Stamford and Bristol, and wondering, why, out of all the offers I was made, I chose there.

The course was probably the closest to what I actually wanted to study. But Nottingham, London and Leeds all had decent courses, and they’re not a five hour train ride from Stamford. I suppose I really never thought I’d get offered a place. It was one of those Sisyphus moments - something that seemed just about achievable, but was always going to be out of reach for the likes of me. So I made myself a secret Faustian pact; that I wasn’t going to go to Uni, unless I got offered a place at Bristol.

And, I can’t deny that a part of me just wanted to stay in Stamford. Despite all my whinging about it, Stamford was always something of a well-worn comfort blanket with all its familiar places and my friends and people like Mrs Dewhurst. But by far the greatest reason for wanting to stay in Stamford, was that I longed to be with Finn. I know that my actions about Bristol kind of suggested that he wasn’t high up on my agenda but subconsciously, he was always on my mind.

At the time, I couldn’t figure out how our relationship would work with me going to Uni. I now suppose that’s because I wasn’t that well at the time. I simply saw things in very simplistic terms: black and white with no tones of grey in between. I remember trying to explain this to Kester back when I was at college. How all the bright and beautiful colours became mixed together into one deep, dark muddy pool. Things were either made of that non-distinct dismal colour or they were made of nothing. It was as if my mind wouldn’t let me acknowledge, let alone accept, any other possibilities.

Because I never really believed I’d get offered a place, it was a real shock when I got that letter from Bristol. I really didn’t handle that well. Scrap that! It was an epic fucking disaster. I don’t think I could have made more of a mess of that had I tried. Not telling people before it became public knowledge at college was bad enough, but Finn having to find out like he did, especially from my mother, was horrific. Even now, I can recall every last detail of that conversation we had on my bed, I’ve replayed it so many times in my mind, yet I haven’t managed to numb its effect on me, despite the repeated exposure. I wonder whether that’s the exact moment that I gave up on “us”, or whether the seeds germinated earlier. I just wish….I don’t know. Maybe if I’d talked to him…..Oh this is getting a bit….Oh well, back to recent events!

I did get to see Finn ever so briefly as part of my pre-Christmas whistle stop tour. He’d sent me the Closer LP in November, which was a lovely thought. It was certainly an interesting choice of album. I wonder why, of all the things he could have sent, he chose that LP? It was the scribbled note on the back of a flyer that really made it. It was just so Finn! Old school Finn, as I remember him from the days before I started college. As soon as I’d posted it, I knew my thank you wasn’t enough. It took me ages, and several hours of discussion with Paul and Sarah, to come up with an album to send back.

I know I didn’t have to. But it’s something I really wanted to do. I was going to post it, but after Luke’s uncharacteristic derision of the postcard I sent, I decided to keep it, hoping we would bump into each other in person. And I’m so bloody glad we did. I can report that he’s looking better than when I last saw him in the summer; there was more colour in his cheeks, even if the rings under his eyes were very deep. But it was more than that. There’s more life in his eyes again, which makes me feel better about things.

Izzy showed me some photos of the fashion show where Finn modelled for her over the summer. I can’t believe that we haven’t caught up properly since then. I’m probably going to hell for this, but by god does Finn look beyond incredible in a proper well cut suit. If anything, he looked even better than in that tux. Izz chose such a great tweed fabric that really brought out the chestnut in his hair and the depth of his eyes. Apparently, he was not at all impressed at being fussed over on the day and was exceptionally mardy with everyone. You can’t tell that from the photos though - he’s wearing that arrogant smile with such distinction. I’m not surprised that Izzy received a barrage of enquiries for his number, but I am surprised that he’s still not dating. Not that it’s any of my business.

Back to the point, I think he was pleased with Wish. I don’t know why I hugged him in the pub, but there was something in his eyes, something a little fragile perhaps? But it did feel good. It felt right. Just for a moment, I felt that peace that always used to be there when I was in his arms. I have to admit it hurt a little when he seemed so genuinely concerned about how I was, and asked about therapy. Maybe it was the way he asked. It was so…so tentative, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask me. Maybe he’s thinking about going for counselling himself, but I’m not sure that’s his style. Though it would probably do him some good, not that I’d ever voice that.

The main thing is, I think we should be able to be friends again. He said I could call him and I think he meant it. The way he left was a bit odd though; we were mid-conversation and, all of a sudden, he was looking at his watch and scooting out of there. He could have genuinely been busy - what with all the jobs Chop tells me he‘s working, but it just didn’t seem right somehow. There’s still some pieces of the jigsaw missing. Maybe it’s not my place to find them anymore but it worries me all the same.

I’m really tired now and if I’m going to get anything done tomorrow, I’m going to have to call it a day and try to get some sleep.

Laters

Little by Little (Oasis)

The unfailing rhythmic click clack of the clock has stolen his focus as he shovels food into his mouth; eating without tasting it, like an automaton. He’s peripherally aware of the possibly superficial, light-hearted conversation floating past him, and realises that the two pairs of eyes are focussed on him. A response of some sort is expected but he’s not sure whether he really heard the question.

“Yeah, yeah. Work’s work, you’ know.” He mumbles and piles another forkful of shepherd’s pie into his mouth in the hope of deflecting further inquiries.

It seems his response has the desired effect as silence fills the kitchen once more, so he can allow his eyes to wander back to the simple clock face; a beacon of continuity in a room that has seen so much change. He can’t remember a time before the clock. It’s always hung on the same wall near the window. It had been there when he was a small boy and his mother had produced her latest creations for him. It had overseen many a birthday party, Christmas Day and celebration, as well as cuddles on afternoons after tears in the playground. He had watched it endlessly after she’d left, thinking if he waited just a little longer, she might just remember him and come home. It had been present throughout many a teenage row with his father and had seen him stagger in at an assortment of ungodly hours. It had always seemed to run fast during Sunday afternoon teas with his nan. Rather like the nursery rhyme, he had expected it to stop after she had died. But it had ticked on and on.

Finn’s father has never been one for change for change’s sake, the kitchen having only ever been redecorated once in all Finn’s 21 years. Yet today, he surveys walls painted a calming shade of cornflower blue and the original pine units, which have been stripped of their yellowy varnish and waxed into a softer, pleasing honey colour. The old wooden slatted blinds have gone, but currently nothing sits in their place. A small smile creeps across his face as he recalls how one always stood at half-mast after he and Archie had been mucking about with it, during a game of pirates when they were about 10 years old. The game had involved jumping from table to chair to work surface and hoisting up a blind as fast as possible.

They’re part way through the meal, when Beth excuses herself to use the bathroom, leaving father and son alone at the table.

“So, you getting out much these days?” His father’s voice interrupts his cosy recollection and renders him irritable.

“I… uh… I work a lot of hours, Da.” He grumbles towards his food.

“But, surely you’ve got to make some time for uh… chilling? That’s what they call it these days isn’t it?”

A small dismissive “pfft” escapes his lips as he turns his head to the back wall, which bares two new modern art prints. Aware that his father would never have chosen these, he tries, but fails to dislike them. He has to concede that Beth has taste.

“Look son, having time off is just as important as working. It keeps you fresh. And… and…” His father puts his cutlery down a little melodramatically. “Perhaps it’s about time you thought about dating again.”

“You wha’?” Finn shoves his plate away from him, unable to conceal the ire in both his tones and actions.

“Well it’s been a while and I… uh… it’s not just about the err… companionship is really important too.”

“Companionship?” Finn’s eyebrows shoot up as his raised voice reverberates across the room. “Companionship?”

He pulls his chair back a little too roughly so that it topples backwards and hits the floor with a thud. He stares at his father, but no more words come to him. He dashes for the back door, having to push past his father, and stumbles out into the fresh air.

He plonks himself down on the garden bench with a huff, fingers searching in his pockets for the only thing he believes can appease his racing pulse and the dull ache in his chest. As the nicotine works its magic, he wonders why he came out here instead of grabbing his coat and hightailing it back to his flat.

He’s lighting up his second cigarette when he sees the socks padding softly towards the bench. Looking away, he feels the bench shift a little, then hears the repeated click, click of a lighter. Something in him gives a little and he pulls his own lighter out his shirt pocket and proffers the flame towards Beth.

He watches in mild surprise as she takes a couple of deep drags on her long white cigarette, unable to suppress the wry smile that crosses his lips as he detects menthol in the vapour. She curls her feet underneath her as she stares off across the garden. She’s wearing jeans and a loose shirt, her hair pulled up in some sort of messy bun. It’s only the lines around her eyes and on her forehead that give away her age.

“You know he worries about you.” She begins quietly.

An odd noise eventually escapes his throat in acknowledgement.

“I think it was your 21st that really set him off.” It’s as if she’s talking to herself, as if her inner words just float into the air with no answer expected.

He can’t help but think back to that day; just another working day with a shift at the garage and then some sound engineering for a few hours in the evening. His father had been all up for organising a party, or just a small meal with friends, but he’d continually come up with excuses and put things off. Thinking he had got away with it, he’d gone with Chop and Izzy to the Swan the following weekend, only to find Chloe and Archie waiting for him. Izzy had baked a huge chocolate cake, which they had somehow demolished over the course of the evening. He had been most touched when they had presented him with a new leather jacket, which they had all clubbed together to buy. It had taken him a further two days to realise that Chloe had borrowed his one night, after having “lost” her own, which is why it fitted so beautifully.

His breathing is slow and even as he recalls how he and his father had notionally celebrated over a Chinese takeaway some two weeks later in his flat. Having a free evening looming ahead, he had instigated the evening expecting nothing more than a quick meal and a couple of tins. But when his father had brought out some childhood photos and begun to reminisce, they had both hit the wine rather hard. The hangover the following morning was legendary; the sort that lasted all day without abatement, despite food, water and paracetamol. The thought is sot unpalatable that he rapidly drops it, returning him to current awareness.

“I kind of understand tha’. It’s just….well ‘companionship?’” He enunciates the word slowly, as if tasting its weight in his mouth and its bearing in the outside word.

He hears Beth swallow. “I believe he was talking about the sort of friendship that runs deep enough for people to share the small everyday things, not just the socially acceptable or big stuff. You know, where you can call someone when you’ve had a shit day and just moan about all the crappy little things that have got on your nerves, piled up together to make the world seem that bit darker. The sort of friendship where it doesn’t matter if you call every day for a week to whinge about the same, most probably trivial issue.”

Finn is still cogitating these words some minutes later after Beth has finished her second cigarette, for he considers the hallmark of true friendship to be the ability to talk about the really significant issues, the life changing stuff. He wonders if he has really has either type of friendship in his life, or whether he simply hasn’t anything that he wishes to share.

“So uh… you and me da. That kind of, erm… companionship?”

A soft laugh emanates from Beth’s lips. “I can’t speak for your dad. But from my point of view, I suppose you could call it that. We do enjoy each other’s company- eating out, walks, that sort of thing. And I have to admit to calling your dad when I’ve had a shite day. Take last week, I tripped over my own bloody feet and, out of all the shopping I was carrying, I had to land on a carton of grape juice. Burst all over my white shirt, and I had an interview that afternoon. Which, I hasten to add, I attended. And, no I didn’t get the job. But your dad, he came round to mine that evening and cooked me Mexican, whilst I poured out every last minutiae of my day and he listened patiently.” She pauses and frowns “I… I’m sorry, I’ve said too much.”

Slowly he shakes his head. He takes his time in getting to his feet and then holds his hand out to pull Beth up. “Come on, it’s bloody freezing.”

Once on her feet, she stretches her back out and yawns before giving Finn a nervous smile.  
It’s only just as they make it to the back door, when he speaks again.

“You know, me da is happier right now than I’ve seen him in years.”

Morningrise (Slowdive)

Finn taps his foot against the grimy table leg in the Swan in time with the imaginary beat in his head. Surprising himself, he was the one to ensure that both he and Chop left work on time for this last minute gathering on a wet April Monday. The original date the gang had agreed on had been erased out of the calendar when Rae had announced she was staying in Bristol to study with Luke, who had his finals coming up The gang had all glumly come to accept that this would be a holiday where they weren’t going to be able to meet up.

Izzy had been terribly down about it, something that had affected Finn’s own mood, rendering him even tetchier than usual. So he and Chop had plotted and schemed, and somehow this hare-brained afternoon had come to fruition. Chloe will be leaving later in the evening for Spain with her latest squeeze. Archie arrived back that morning from visiting his new boyfriend, and Rae is only here for a single day to celebrate Karim’s birthday.

Finn ensured he arrived early on account of having to work at Radio Star that evening, and now he’s sitting like some billy-no-mates sipping at his second pint of coke. The first few months of the new millennium had been ridiculously busy, especially as he’d added on a second module in college. Though, he had remained characteristically cautious in sharing his news such that only Izzy and Archie were in the loop. This time he’s attempting an A-level in maths. He’s still unsure as to whether it’s a good idea, given the numerous hours he has spent battling fruitlessly with equations, while next door’s children screamed and wailed.

He picks up a beer mat and starts to rotate it between his fingers, remembering how it had been Rae who had nearly caught him out. He’d been toying with different routes to solve a problem he’d been given when he was working at Town. It had been a very quiet Thursday, so he’d pulled the books from his bag and was midway working through a potential solution when the phone had rung. His greeting had been curt and distracted but he’d fallen silent when he heard her familiar tones. Rightly calling him out on his unprofessional tone, he’d nearly confessed what he had been doing when she questioned him.

Calling himself a dickhead had once again broken the ice and they had talked about music for some ten minutes before she’d made her cheeky request. The record store in Bristol had not been able to help one of its best clients locate some rare pieces of vinyl. Rae had soon had him scavenging around, checking shelves and crates to assist. They had laughed at the bizarre selection Rae had been collating and had enjoyed trying to paint a picture of this elusive collector. He hadn’t laughed that hard in so long. The high had lasted well into the evening when he’d treated himself to a take away curry and a couple of tins of Stella. The following week, he’d been the one to call her. His courage had come from the invented reverse premise that he needed the favour returned. Except, he had never used the excuse because their conversation had flowed quite naturally of its own accord. They stuck to the safe topics of music and their mates, recounting small anecdotes and debating the finer points of some rare indie album. Calls had happened on an intermittent, yet regular, basis since then; calls made without forethought or planning, just as and when.

Archie’s first to arrive in the pub, patting his oldest friend on the back before gathering him up for a hug. They’re soon talking about the raft of changes in Archie’s life; changing to a dual archaeology and history degree and moving from halls mid-year due to homophobic students that had made his life difficult. Finn’s both saddened and concerned for his friend. But Archie seems to shrug it all off, as if he had expected it to happen, as if it’s somehow normal. Finn has long believed his friends’ sex lives are none of his business, but this is something he can’t let go. As their discussion progresses, he winces at his own naivety and the way their lives have slipped to such an extent that he had no idea that this was what his oldest friend was facing on an on-going basis.

Their conversation is so all-consuming that Finn hasn’t noticed the other arrival. His mind is so preoccupied that it takes him some moments to register that she is there, sitting at the table, pint in hand. At least he thinks it’s her; this girl’s hair is way shorter, she appears thinner and there’s something else in her demeanour he can’t quite identify. He leans forward, seeking out words to make sure she’s still Rae, but Chop gets in there first, setting them off on the path of what her plans are for the summer. Every time he subsequently attempts to engage her, he’s too slow off the mark as someone else dives in with yet another question.

In the early days, he would have manufactured an excuse to swap seats, for everyone to move around the table, even if that meant getting Chop to invent some daft drinking game. He would have traced letters on her leg to let her know he was thinking about her. But now, the distance across the pub table feels utterly unnavigable. Unable to cope with the tinny discord playing in his head, he wanders outside for a cigarette. Blowing the smoke into the breeze, he lifts his eyes towards the clouds in silent supplication.

Rae appears a mere few minutes later, arm in arm with Chloe. Softly he calls her name, but Chloe tells him gently to leave it because Rae isn’t feeling well. Much as he wants to fight against this, his teeth sink into his lip in silence. It’s not his place anymore. He’s about to traipse back inside, head hanging in defeat, when she turns around and deliberately catches his eye. The gnawing in his stomach continues to evolve as she tentatively walks over.

“I just wanted to say hi.” She says, ever so quietly. “Before I go.”

He swallows thickly, trapped by a wall of words that he can’t say.

“You’re not as talkative in person as you are on the phone, dickhead.” She bops him on the nose with a finger.

A small noise escapes his throat and he raises his eyebrows, heart hammering in his chest, while she remains within touching distance. “You ok?” His voice is cracked.

“Yeah, yeah just overdone it a bit, you know.” She smiles, but he reads a different story in her eyes.

“Rae. I’m… uh… just worried about you, that’s all. I mean, if I’m allowed ta be.”

He expects her to chew his words and spit them back at him. Instead, she nods in acceptance, murmuring. “Just got rather a lot of… of stuff right now.”

Mutely, he takes her hand in his and rubs circles into her palm. He would offer to be the one to help her, to listen. But he’s more than afraid. That discussion at the ball flashes through his mind once more. The one where she’d made it only too clear that she wouldn’t need his help again. That she would fight her own battles.

He tries, but fails to smile at her, maintaining eye contact. She steps forward, and for a moment, their bodies are almost touching, still linked by their hands. Her nose ephemerally brushes his collarbone before she casually kisses his cheek as a farewell. Paralysed, he watches on helplessly as she climbs into Chloe’s car and casts one final backward glance at him as they drive off into the chilly night.

In his discombobulation, his walk home takes him several miles off course. For some unfathomable reason, he initially turns towards college, where he lights up a cigarette beneath its monstrous sprawling form, before heading behind the dilapidated tower blocks and through the underpass towards the late night cafe. Dismissing the idea almost instantly , he denies himself the pleasure of taking a cup of tea within its down at heel walls. Some twenty minutes later, he finds himself outside the chippy, gazing nostalgically through the glass at its dated neon signs, some of whose letters no longer shine out.

Out of sheer necessity, he has to pass the Bookies, but he crosses to the far side of the road a few hundred yards back. Yet his gaze invariably wanders towards the small parade of post war shops with their flats above. Not only does he, for the first time, consider them dated, he feels as if they belong to another time; a part of his life which too was dated, no longer accessible. Something within stops him from walking back towards his nan’s bungalow, something so deeply rooted that he cannot yet consciously recognise its presence.

Instead, his feet take him through the local green, located centrally amongst the various maisonette blocks on the estate where he lived. Lighting up, he surveys the blocks and the manner in which they have been laid out. They are hardly glamorous, or popular even, yet they house a varied demographic of the town’s population: from children to the elderly, families, couples, singletons, those in work and those unemployed. Its formulaic construction with regular repetitive walkways had somehow been familiar and comfortable from the day he had moved in. He supposes that there must have been many similar estates built in the post war years; all broadly sharing a single plan, yet altered to fit the lay of the land where they were situated.

Wearily, he settles on a bench on the far side of the green and kicks away an empty crisp wrapper that lies balled near his feet. Reflecting on the evening’s events, he’s glad he’s sitting down, for he knows he has to accept that the lay of his land has very much altered, and as much as struggled against it, things will never fit back together as he had once hoped. It’s not forces beyond his control that have to conspire in his favour once more, it’s him. He has to adapt.

Move Any Mountain (The Shamen)

Finn’s perched on a chair at the back of his sound engineering class, fiddling with his pen. He already understands what’s being discussed and has happily zoned out, thinking about meeting up with Archie later that week. His best mate is due back in town for a few days before flying off to Morocco with his boyfriend - Simon. A reduced group- consisting of Chop, Izz, Chloe and her boyfriend Peter- are due to meet up. But Rae will still be in Bristol.

Much as she, and her state, of mind continues to niggle him, he’s slightly relieved. She had been silent for three weeks after her last visit, which had him waking in the small hours on more than one occasion. With a burgeoning determination, he’d only tried calling the once, to discover from her boss that she was ill. Nonetheless, he’d been so concerned that he’d even brought it up with Chloe, who, thankfully, had not chastised him, but had coolly told him that Rae was quite stressed about her exams; it was nothing to worry about.

When Izzy had yet again been trying to set him up on date some two weeks later, his initial response had comprised continued resistance and trying to change the subject. But Chloe too had been very encouraging, something that had simultaneously caused a knot to form in his stomach and give him the kick he had needed. Pleadingly, he’d stared at Chop while Izzy had listed half a dozen of her friends who would almost certainly go out on a date with him. He’d even kicked Chop hard under the table when he voiced that he thought one of the girls was “well nice”. When Chloe had started making her own suggestions, he’d surprised himself by muttering, “For fuck’s sake, help me.”

A small grin forms on his face as he recalls how Chop had pulled one of his inimitable faces and responded with “Who do you think I am, Finney? Captain fucking match-maker?” Everyone had fallen apart laughing and he had finally told the others, as politely as possible, that he’d find his own date, in his own time. Except that Chop had come up trumps with Gemma. A pretty girl with dark curly hair who had turned up at the garage one day to have her sunshine yellow VW Beetle fixed. Thinking he was being subtle, Chop had relayed to him with a nudge and wink that she was single, though he reckoned Finn was too chicken to take a girl like her out.

He’d not exactly fallen for it hook, line and sinker, but had done it out of sheer bloody mindedness, to prove a point. Of course, it took him until halfway through the date, at a pub she had chosen, to realise that he had been royally set up. She had taken him to watch a gig, something, it seemed, that she did regularly. She had a lovely smile, a good sense of humour and reasonable taste in music. He hadn’t objected when she had started kissing him at the end of the set. It had been gentle, but fun and reciprocating had been surprisingly easy.

Shuffling his papers so as not to look too disinterested, he starts to doodle on the paper with a well chewed biro. A second and third date had passed with him being more physically comfortable as time wore on. He had missed the feeling of another body pressed against his, holding someone close and most of all, being held. Chloe and Izzy had magically appeared at the pub on their fourth date, which he had reasoned should have been at least, a little awkward. However, he had laughed off the coincidence and happily followed Gemma to a club that evening. Something in the euphoria of the music had pushed him further than he thought he was willing to go, and he’d ended up going back to her flat.

He tastes blood as the brittle pen breaks and a spike of plastic cuts the soft membrane of his inner lip. Running his tongue over the cut, he visualises how a rather large vodka had loosened the remainder of his inhibitions such that he had followed Gemma to her bedroom. The sex had been satisfying to the extent that both had found a release, but nothing more. Holding her in his arms afterwards had been an unsettling experience; something had niggled at him such that he hadn’t been able to relax. Something had been missing. Something that meant that he wouldn’t be able to see her again. He had made a stuttered mess of trying to explain, but she’d already known. She had made him a cup of tea whilst he dressed. That only caused him to feel worse, to feel more of a scumbag.

Finn’s still toying with his lip and sucking away the metallic taste as he remembers that he had been rather taken aback when Gemma had confessed that she was a friend of Izzy’s and was aware that he’d been uncertain about dating again. Her calm, controlled manner had caused him to silently chastise himself. Somehow, she had noticed something of his internal struggle and had hugged him softly and comfortingly, explaining that it really didn’t matter. That she had felt something was missing which had caused her to hold back too, that things don’t always work out. He’d found her in his arms again as he quietly stroked her hair and promised that she deserved better than him, that he had nothing to give. He’d kissed her one last time before leaving in the small hours. There was no point promising to call, because she had already been aware that he wouldn’t.

Ashamed, he’d explained quietly to Izzy one evening later that week that he wasn’t going to see Gemma again. Her soft hand had squeezed his, she’d hugged him tightly and nothing further had been said about the matter. Not even once had Chop raised the subject. Chloe had simply stared at him, a small frown marring her forehead, when he’d stated that he and Gemma had called it a day.

He’s still deep in thought when his tutor pats him on the shoulder. Finn glances up to find that most of his class mates are packing their folders away, and some are already on their way out of the door.

“Really, Nelson. I know your practical experience puts you way ahead of most of my students, but you could, at least, do me the courtesy of pretending to look like you’re paying attention.”

“Sorry.” He grimaces. “A few too many late nights.”

“So now you’re telling me you were actually sleeping with your eyes open.” The tutor shakes his head in silent mirth. “Look, I’m really not sure that this course…”

“I want to do it, honestly.” Finn interrupts. “It means a lot to me. I know can learn on the job, but there’s a lot the guys don’t know about. And I want to understand it. I want to make sense of it all for myself.”

“The fact that you have been trying different things out in practice comes through in your work here.” The lecturer tilts his head. “But I really don’t think that this class is for you.”

“But I…”

“Look, I’m not saying you can’t stick with the class. But I’m wondering if a more advanced class would be more appropriate, along with some other types of work experience.”

“Oh.” Finn picks up his textbook and thumbs through it. “But I’m not good with… I mean, I find…” He pauses and sighs, fingers twitching.

“How’s about we go outside and discuss it over a cigarette?”

Finn frowns.

“You have a packet in your shirt pocket.”

The discussion with his tutor is nothing like he expects. Almost inadvertently, he agrees to switch to a different course, which would be more focussed on the type of work he wants to do. However, he would still be required to submit a paper and gather the relevant experience for the diploma he had thought was a year away. Most of work could be completed over the summer, were he prepared to put the hours in. And he’d need to help at the local theatre to fill out the practical side of his portfolio. However, it seems that even this could be relatively easily arranged.

Staring at the acres of asphalted yard in front of him, Finn finds himself doing something he had never anticipated: pushing back. He releases some of the pressure that had slowly built up by listing the complex demands of his growing schedule, the two courses and the four jobs. Which is when he finally cracks and confesses that he hasn’t been sleeping brilliantly and is all a bit a sea. If his tutor thinks his rant unnecessarily or overly personal, he doesn’t voice it. Much to Finn’s surprise, it turns out that he’s a regular at one of Finn’s club nights and is something of a closet fan.

Finn’s overworked mind takes longer than expected to ease into action. Eventually he realises that his tutor may be or might have been in a relationship with Rob. Panicky thoughts of not wishing to be helped fill him to the point where he struggles to contain his temper and defend his independence. But slowly, he allows himself to agree to the proposed changes, including an introduction to the Stamford Theatre Company; he’s only too aware that he’ll be quickly out of the door if he isn’t up to the job.

By the time he’s finished his second cigarette and said a rather grumpy goodbye to his tutor, he has to run to the pub, as he was already short of time when the unexpected intervention took place. He discards his bag with aplomb and legs it to the bar to buy the round that Chop is ordering. Sitting down with his pint, he rolls up and starts babbling away about the evening’s turn of events, until he falls silent with reddened cheeks. He’s never met Peter before and now this man’s staring at him in mild bemusement. Automatically, words dry up and shrivel on his tongue, leaving him coughing.

Chloe rather formally introduces Peter, a director of his own marketing company, who, in Finn’s eyes, must be about 10 years older than her. He’s almost lost the ability to talk, his earlier burst of self-confidence having evaporated into the air along with the smoke from his Marlboro. His next ten minutes are spent gazing into his pint morosely, feeling a fool. But for the second time that day he’s taken aback when Peter shows genuine interest in his course, quietly asking questions and considering Finn’s answers.

Withdrawing, or feigning illness, would be an easier option than talking about himself and his jumbled assortment of employments and courses. Besides, he has no idea why Peter would be interested in someone like him; someone whose greatest professional and academic achievement probably lies in the fact that he manages to get out of bed in the morning and hold down that motley series of jobs. Eventually reaching the end of his newfound openness, he flips the questions round to discover that Peter is a serial entrepreneur with a finger in a lot of pies.

Finn has never met anyone quite like him before: someone who believes that you have a good chance of realising your dreams with sufficient hard work and planning. Peter has passion and fire, which are tempered by a slightly sceptical realism, something Finn reasons lies behind his ability to have made his multiple ventures a success. It would be hard not to notice that he really likes Chloe too. They share so many not  
-so-secret looks and glances, their hands always interlocked under the table. Frequently, Peter pauses to allow Chloe to the opportunity to speak.

Finn is last to leave the pub, having drunk without any need for his pills. Walking home, his head is ablaze with a myriad of ideas; some irrevocably intertwined or co-balanced, others completely out on a limb. A nascent courage buds deep within: one that, despite the continual nurturing it will require, will ultimately lead him on a path that will change his life in a way that he could never have foreseen. But something else has occurred during the evening, something that he is, as yet, incapable of recognising. Likewise, those present will come back to the memory of the evening in some months to come, when trying to identify the substance and inception of the shift in their friend.

*************  
Bang and Blame (R.E.M.)

With a smile on his face, Finn pops his earphones in and makes his way towards Chop and Izzy’s for a long awaited party. He’s spent most of the summer either toiling in the garage, DJ ing, at the radio station, working atTown Records, or simply struggling and lamenting over the paper he was trying to finalise for his course. During the past couple of weeks, he started to mull over some of his discussions with Peter, recognising that he should try and find some coherence in his future. The very thought has been liberating in itself, bringing a hitherto unknown sense of self-belief and desire to achieve.

It seemed that everybody, bar him, had been away at some point over the summer and it was only now, when it was drawing to a close, that they are finally all meeting up. The postal vinyl exchange with Rae had continued until she had gone to Tunisia on a family holiday to stay with Karim’s sister. He had begun to sense a challenge in her choices, something that he had responded to relish, trying to locate unusual or rare versions that she would actually enjoy listening to. What had been unexpected was that she had not desisted, neither during her exams, nor when he had sensed that she had other things going on in her life, as indicated by the brief note scrawled on a crumpled receipt in May.

The friendship has come to mean something to him that is independent of their previous relationship. Something more tangible, something less fragile. Something that he had never dared hope for. Yet, simultaneously, it has aroused an aching in him, which he can’t quite fathom. For he believes that he has accepted what had come to pass between them and its irrevocable and finite nature. His crippling bouts of self-denigration have become less frequent, such that the very mention of her name no longer causes his heart rate to rise and there have been no more confusing dizzy spells. Neither can he remember the last time his stomach truly ailed him.

His flat has become his sanctuary; a place of calm and safety to retreat to when he is feeling overwhelmed by what life is throwing at him. Sleep has started to come easier and his restless night wandering episodes are fewer and further between. A constant stream of home-improvement plans come to him at the most inopportune of moments, such as when he’s in class or lying under a car covered in grease. Despite his best intentions, he has yet to capitalise on them, such was the pace of his life. However, he rationalises that the impending autumn should bring the weather that will force him indoors and into DIY.

Walking up to the house, bottle of vodka in hand, he catches a glimpse of her in the garden; flicking her hair and smiling over her shoulder at Chlo. The sight renders him immobile; it feels as if his heart has stopped in his chest. It is as if the clocks have ceased ticking for a second and everything in the physical world has blurred and faded away. A shout from Archie breaks the spell, and he wanders in grinning, shaking his head at himself.

***********************************************  
Dear Diary

Sorry, this is going to be a long one. I know I’ve been absolutely shit at keeping you up to date with events. I’ve been a traitor! I have been writing on scraps of paper as and when thoughts come to me. You know what it’s like: I just haven’t got round to sorting them out and sticking them in. And with the mountain of stuff I have on, I’m not sure that I’ll ever get round to it. Well not until I’m Mrs Dewhurst’s age! So, here’s a quick summary of what’s been happening since I last scribbled in these hallowed pages!!

As you know, I felt that things with Luke weren’t right around Easter. It probably started as early as February, and it was getting me down; bothering me and keeping me awake at night. But it took me flipping ages to realise that the issue was Luke, and not my old problems resurfacing. I really tried to talk things through with him, to try and make sense of what had changed, but I don’t really think he was ever that interested. At least, he never seemed to fully engage with the conversation, or maybe, he never really understood what I was trying to say.

The trouble was that it was really tricky to disentangle what was going on in my own head from the whole Luke situation. Which was the chicken, and which the egg? The low feelings started again post-Christmas and stupid self-doubts kept hijacking my thoughts. I think I’m ok and, rationally I know I’m ok, but then I still have these huge moments of insecurity and anxiety. I even started to question why Sarah and Britta were hanging around me. That and the pressure of exams was a lot of cope with, so I suppose, my initial reaction was to brush the whole thing with Luke under the proverbial carpet.

The funny thing is, I don’t think Luke even noticed anything was wrong. He even had the gall to question why I was increasing my counselling sessions to two a week. At the time, I thought it was because he was disappointed as it meant I missed one of our drama group sessions. But now, now I think he just didn’t get it. I burst into tears on him; all about nothing really. It was about two weeks before exams started, and he seemed all flustered and panicked. He made some half-hearted attempts at comforting me but none if of it felt right. It was like it was a facade, like he was only doing it because it was the right thing to do, not because he wanted to be doing it.

I know he was busy with his finals and his grade’s massively important when it comes to his Masters’ funding. But his behaviour was just a pile of shit. The coolness of his demeanour and the distance that was growing between us wasn’t evident in other areas of his life. His rehearsals for the show he’s putting on at the Edinburgh fringe were still full of his usual passion and intensity. He was still the old Luke with his friends.

There was another warning sign I should have spotted a while ago: he was never that keen on my mates. Don’t get me wrong; he was happy to socialise with Paul, Steve, Britta and Sarah, but they were never invited to his parties or things where his friends would be there. I don’t believe he ever really liked Chloe; I think it was simply a case of putting up with her. Whilst he never actively discouraged me from staying in touch with my Stamford mates, he never encouraged it either. And small things he said, little snipes he made, and his reluctance to come to Stamford all add up to something more than just not liking my mates.

At some point, I just understood that I didn’t love him anymore. It’s kind of hard to put a date on it but I remember one evening when we were walking home from the pub along the canal. I had been all set for night away from studying: a bit of fun, a few pints and having a laugh. I was in a really good mood; a copy of The Shamen’s En-tact album had arrived in the post that morning along with a letter! Yes, a Finn Nelson special detailing why he thought it was better than the more commercial “Boss Drum” album. He reckoned that the lively music would keep my brain going. He also enclosed a large bar of dairy milk to keep my strength up while studying. (Remember how he always used to buy it for me?) None of that was what really counted though; it was his encouraging words about how he knew I’d do well. He reminded me that we all have challenges in our lives but, deep down, I’ve always been strong and I would get through these exams, like I’ve done with the other challenges in my life.

So, as you can imagine, I was on something of a high, having also packed in a full day of studying in the pissing noisy library. I had already downed a couple of pints with my mates when Luke showed up with his. He was pretty dismissive about the pub we had chosen and spent the first hour in some sort of discussion with his crew. When he finally came over, he had the cheek to ask me if I would go with them to somewhere a bit quieter. I gave in, thinking he was tired with all the hours he was putting in pouring over his books.

But do you know what? When we got to the dingy backstreet pub where his mates were drinking whiskey, he was on top form again. Centre of attention, telling stories, holding court, that sort of thing. I didn’t really say much, just kept on drinking. But on that walk home when he put an arm around me, I moved away. I didn’t want it anymore. His touch wasn’t calming or reassuring or anything really. I just felt nothing.

He may have bleeted on about his life the whole way home, but I wasn’t listening. It’s like he was playing a record that I just couldn’t tune into. Music that made no sense. But one thing was clear. The relationship had run its course.

I waited until all our exams were over to tell him. Even now, I can remember how nervous I was, how worried I was for him. Well, let me tell you something, I shouldn’t have been. The strength of his disgust was quite something. Not only did he have the gall to tell me that I would regret my actions, he also pulled my part in the play. That simply confirmed everything that I had been thinking.

Even though I know it was the right thing for me, I can’t help but feel a bit sad. All the time, energy and emotion that I invested came to nothing. I’m not saying I would have done things differently, that I would have chosen not to date him had I known the outcome, but it’s still left me feeling out of sorts. Dare I say it, a bit fragile, perhaps?

Onwards and upwards to the rest of the summer! Tunisia was fab. It was warm sunny and just wonderful. Spending time with Karim’s family was surprisingly relaxing; they were exceedingly welcoming and their hospitality knew practically no bounds. The best thing, though, was not having to worry about anybody else. Just to put my books away, enjoy myself and have nothing to do. It’s done me the world of good and I feel ready to face the world again. Well nearly.

The thing is, when I got back, I did something that I shouldn’t have. Something that will possibly have unintended repercussions. I really didn’t set out for things to happen this way but… please don’t judge me, dear diary, but I got together with Finn again. You don’t need to remind me of how I cried over him and vowed never to go back. Hell, there’s even a fucking list of reasons in this book why I should never go back. I wrote it when I first arrived in Bristol, but I don’t think I ever thought I would need them.

In my defense, Finn and I have been getting on better and better over the last year. Sending each other albums has been challenging, funny, kind of cool and exciting. It’s certainly kept me on my toes and I’d come to really look forward to his calls. It’s strange- he’s actually quite talkative on the phone, yet I can remember how he used to struggle even calling his dad or Archie. There’s something about seeing him in person, something that draws me to him. Back in April, he hardly said a word, but I understood that he cared. His quiet, understated way was so soothing… so right. Maybe it’s because we were each other’s first loves that we have this sort of connection thing. I dunno. It’s just so bloody complicated when it comes to Finn fucking Nelson, isn’t it?

Last week, he was at Chop and Izzy’s party, where I suppose I should have expected him to be, It’s not as if I made a beeline for him. He was happily chatting to Archie and Izzy. But something was different this time. Something about him had changed. At first I thought it was that some of the old cheekiness and energy was back, that he didn’t look as worn as he has done. Even now, I can’t explain what it was, but it was like he had an aura something. Like… fuck knows, you get the idea anyway.

We didn’t even speak until late into the evening, by which stage I’d had quite a few drinks. Actually make that a shed load of vodka. The dickhead actually picked an argument with me over which Bowie album is best. And that’s when I felt it again. That slow burning, tingling feeling that always danced in my body when we were together. I can remember stepping closer to him, testing out his boundaries, to see how he would react. Because, no matter how brightly that fire burnt, I was absolutely not going to make a fool of myself.

There was something in his eyes when our bodies started to touch, something that I’d not seen before. I wish I could put my finger on what it was. I always thought I could read him so well. Those enormous smiles that lit up his whole being, the way his tongue used to catch behind his teeth, how his breath hitched in his throat, the nervous tremor of his fingers on my thigh when he used our secret language. But it was nowhere near any of these things. The closest to that look I’d ever seen was when we were shouting at each other in that disabled toilet all those years ago. I suppose it might be a kind of vulnerability but it was tinged with something else.

Anyway, somehow we ended up dancing together. He was ever so gentlemanly, careful with his hands and his body. But it wasn’t enough. So I lead him upstairs. I honestly meant to talk to him. To ask him how he was, to find out what had changed. But instead, I kissed him. Yes, I was the one to kiss him first. From the instant his lips were on mine, I knew what I wanted. In that moment, I wanted to be with him. To feel his body against mine.

His kiss was something else. It just so full of passion. When we broke apart, he stood there, flushed, eyes blazing and those beautiful full lips parted. I slowly took off my dress, leaving him open mouthed. And for the first time, I took the lead; I undressed him, I laid him on the bed. I have to say, dear diary, that, if anything, his body has gotten even better with age.

Reducing Finn Nelson, Stamford’s answer to Brad Pitt, to a stuttering fumbling mess was an incredible feeling in the moment. That even after everything that happened and all those months, I could cause him to fall apart. It may have taken him a while to get going, to find his way, but holy fucking cow, it was worthwhile. Somehow, he has this amazing ability to be gentle and tender and yet searingly intense at the same time. He absolutely worshipped my body, in a way that took my breath away.

We went at it for hours until I finally wore him out, and he held out his arm for me to sleep next to him. Ok, I confess I might have wanted to feel him close once more, so I stayed with him in Chop and Izzy’s spare room. I couldn’t help but study him once he had fallen asleep. He had a couple of small creases near his eyes that weren’t there before. But they didn’t mar his beautiful face, with its smattering of freckles, those expressive eyebrows and his lips. I suppose it was a bit of a privilege; I never thought I’d get to look on him like that again.

I found it hard to go to sleep. Even though I had experienced everything that I thought I wanted, I just couldn’t settle. I laid there, listening to his slow rhythmic breathing, which was both unbelievably calming and reassuring. There’s something about him, which I’ve never quite understood nor will I ever understand. Something about those quite moments with him, which has always stilled the tumult inside me. I just don’t get it.

I must have drifted off at some point because I woke up in the morning to find that he had gone. I admit I was a bit miffed, a bit baffled. I suppose I had wanted to be the one to leave first, to lead the way in it all being no big deal. That it didn’t change us being friends. A bit of me was angry, because I thought it meant that he didn’t even think it worth talking about face to face.

When I made it downstairs, the first people I bumped into were Archie and Izzy, who naturally wanted all the gossip. And this is where I really fucked up. As in the mother of all titanic sized fuck-ups. Even now I feel fucking sick just thinking about what I said and to whom. Oh bollocks. Big cow-sized hairy fucking bollocks. What was I thinking?

It’s not as if the two of us buggering off half way through the night wasn’t going to go unnoticed. Truthfully, I wasn’t going to say anything but then their questions got a bit close to the truth. And when Izzy asked if we’d spent the night together I’m afraid the words just erupted out of me in an unstoppable torrent. And I’m only writing them down to remind myself of what a bitch I am. Because, as Chop would put it, it was un-fucking-acceptable and totally unnecessary. Dear diary, please don’t hate me, but here goes:

“So what if we did spend the night together. He’s single. I’m two months out of a long term relationship. And do you know what? I really fancied a shag. Now I could have picked anyone up at a club or bar. But I knew I’d be safe with Finn. I knew he’d treat me right. He’s also bloody hot, so why wouldn’t I? Spending the night together doesn’t mean anything. It’s only sex for fuck’s sake. People have meaningless one night stands all the time.”

Not my finest moment. It’s the sort of thing Stacey Bloody Stringfellow would say. And in one little rant, I reduced myself to beneath her level. It’s safe to say, I disgraced myself by everybody’s standards.

Izzy looked shocked and then Archie had, what I thought was the cheek, to ask if Finn was ok. Which, I’m afraid to say, in my hung-over, sleep deprived state, set me off on another rant about what gave them the right to ask. However, mid-tirade, I noticed Finn’s bag and coat were still in the hall. It was one of those heart-stopping moments that made me feel physically sick as well as bringing home what had actually happened.

A rational part of me says that we were both consenting adults who shared a night of fun. Likewise, part of me thinks it’s not as if Finn could have expected that it meant anything. After all, he had effectively been the one who broke us up. I could argue that he’s not entitled to have any feelings after what he has done. But that’s not really fair is it? I mean, maybe if I had said something about Bristol, maybe if I had opened up maybe….. But I can’t change the past, neither can he. It is what it is.  
I do worry that the night may have meant something different to him than it meant for me. That he might still have those feelings. And I’ll admit that I also worry about whether some of those feelings are still sitting deep inside me.

But no matter what, I can’t and I won’t go back, will I? I told him as much at the ball - he would still represent a step back for me. Now, even more so than ever. Finn’s living in his own little world in Stamford, which as far as I can tell, suits him just fine. He seems happy there. What with the garage, Town records, DJing and his friends. He just needs to meet the right girl and settle down. That’s what‘ll make him happy. That was never going to be me, was it? I’m not really the settling down type, and certainly not the type who would want to stay in a small town. There’s so much of the world for me to see, so many things to do.

He’s by no means a bad person, even taking that kiss with Katie into account. I can accept that it was a mistake on his part. That it happened. And from what I’ve seen of Katie in Bristol, I’m pretty sure I know who initiated it. Nevertheless, he still kissed her. Doing one bad thing doesn’t make you a bad person, though. Dare I say it, he’s still a quiet, kind, special person. He has this way about him, that’s just, well it’s just different. It’s not something he just turns on and off at will; it’s an innate part of who he is. I saw it at Easter- when I was having a rough day, I didn’t have to say anything, he just knew. And he knew how to comfort me without being intrusive. That sort of empathy is a special talent. I’ve not really ever met anyone else like him and I doubt I ever will.

Oh god, will you listen to me, banging on about that man again. However tempting it would be to melt back into those arms, I just can’t. I just hope that we can go back to being friends again and forget the night ever happened, even though I don’t regret it.

I’m in serious danger of tears right now so I’m going to go and try to do something productive like listening to music? Nah, scrap that, I think I’d better make myself a hot chocolate and try and read something light.

x


End file.
